


Blessed: Book One

by Transient_Reality



Series: Blessed [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Demons, Guardian Angels, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transient_Reality/pseuds/Transient_Reality
Summary: A blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man appears in April's life, as if from nowhere. Gentle, kind, caring and handsome, he claims he's there to help her. With what? And how? And who is this strange young man?[A secular story about hope, belief and the strong bonds of friendship.][Warning: language.]





	1. Michelangelo

I leaned against the cool metal wall of the cooler at work, fighting back the stinging tears that were threatening to blossom forth from my eyes. I pressed my palm to the wall and swallowed roughly.   
        Not here, I thought firmly. Not now.   
        Swallowing again, I leaned back and stretched, looking around the cooler and attempting to distract myself by making a mental to do list.  
        Pull the overstock off the shelves and try to put it out, I thought. Check the displays and the ad items, make sure the milk's full, check for broken eggs, oh and I should do the order for tomorrow so that's out of the way...  
        I pushed out of the swinging doors of the cooler and padded across the back room, still deep in thought, the heels of my black-and-red plaid high tops clacking on the cement. I barely registered the soft thrum of the air conditioning unit above my head, or the whir of the cardboard crusher to my right as I passed the racks of unsorted grocery items in the cavernous back room.  
        I should check the discount cooler too, make sure the old dates are pulled out.  
        I pushed my way through another set of double doors, the walkie-talkie at my neck crackling a bit as someone spoke. I was so deep in thought that I leaped nearly a mile in the air when someone spoke in a calm, warm voice behind me.  
        "You have a great pain deep inside you, don't you?"  
        I squeaked and turned, blinking in shock at the young man.   
        He was perched atop one of my coolers, legs delicately crossed at the ankles, eyes warm. He was dressed as though he had stepped straight out of a butler anime, complete with crisply creased white pants, a black neatly pinned vest and a sky blue shirt. His butler-like old-fashioned style clashed greatly with the loud, bright signs, advertisements and posters hanging around the store around him.  
        I looked around. Was he lost? Was he talking to me? I peered around for a group of sniggering college kids hiding behind a display. Handsome young men like this didn't just show up out of the blue, not at my store.   
        I knew nearly everyone who set foot in my department. I lived in the kind of city that was just large enough to have three grocery stores, but just small enough where seemingly everyone knew everyone else, and everyone else's business. I occasionally saw college kids bustle through the store, coming over from the local Lutheran college up the hill, but they generally moved in packs.  
        This guy was alone. He was also sitting on my cooler.  
        "Uh..." I wasn't quite sure how to respond. I eyed him carefully.  
        He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. Pointed face, bright eyes so sky blue I could imagine clouds in them, pearly skin, delicate, spindly fingers.  
        He chuckled softly. "So sorry, how rude of me."   
        He hopped off my cooler and sank into a low bow, pressing a hand to his chest. "It is so nice to meet you, milady. My name is Michelangelo."  
        "N-Nice to meet you, Michelangelo," I stammered, still feeling very unsettled. I looked around again. The entire area seemed devoid of other people suddenly, which was odd. It was a Wednesday, a busy day for the store, and my department was always clustered with people who desperately required milk or eggs or cheese. To have it suddenly empty of customers was seemingly unreal.  
        "My name's-"  
        "April," he said, chuckling when I looked startled. "Your name tag." He nodded toward the tag on my chest. "Though I wouldn't have needed it. I knew who you were as soon as I saw you." He smiled.  
        I blinked. What was that supposed to mean?  
        "Is there something I can help you with?" I made an attempt at my best Customer Service voice, cursing the shakiness in it.  
        He smiled lightly. "I do believe the better question would be, is there something I can help you with? Or perhaps, what can I help you with?" His eyes danced.

        "Milady," Michelangelo said the next day. "Do you believe in angels?"  
        He had reappeared when I had returned to work the next day. I had gone home the night after meeting him, attempting to forget the strangely handsome man I had met, but my heart never quite believing that what I had seen hadn't transpired. I couldn't put it together, though. Who was he? Where had he come from? Why did I feel so warm and safe when he was around? Why couldn't anyone else remember seeing him?  
        I had asked my coworkers about him during my break the day before.  
        "Hey, you guys see that blonde guy in the butler outfit that was here earlier?" I had asked a cluster of them as we sat at the break table. "Kind of tall, black vest, white pants?"  
        They had shaken their heads and said no. None of them had seen him. I had brushed that off, however. We saw probably hundreds of people through the store each day, it wasn't inconceivable that a single blonde young man would go unrecognized, no matter how strangely he was dressed.  
        Still, though, it seemed odd. Ours was the sort of store where someone could walk in the store wearing shorts in the middle of winter and the word would spread through the store faster than the person could. Surely a mysterious handsome butler would have kicked up the rumor mill. But alas, nothing. It all seemed very strange.  
        Now, I was tearing open a box, trying to stock yogurt when he reappeared, seemingly out of nowhere behind me, perched yet again on my cooler. I squeaked and dropped a cup of yogurt, which rolled across the floor toward him.  
        Chuckling, he caught it on his foot, lifted his foot quickly, tossed the cup into his hand and then onto the shelf next to me.  
        I watched him, my eyes wide. That was an impossible shot from the angle at which he sat.  
        "I-I...what-"  
        He smiled mysteriously. "I asked if you believe in angels."  
        I shook my head to clear it and went back to stocking the yogurt. "I guess I don't know. I'm not really the religious type, no offense if you are."  
        I heard the smile in his voice when he next spoke. "Milady. One does not need to be a 'religious type' to believe in angels. I am surprised you do not, after all, you are a good person. Is it truly so far-fetched to believe there are great, powerfully kind beings protecting humans like you? After all, that is our job."  
        I froze in place. Turning on my heels, I blanched in his direction. He sat upon my cooler, looking no more perturbed than if he had just commented on the weather.

        "Wait," I said, forgetting entirely about my job. "Wait wait wait. Are you honestly trying to convince me you're...some kind of angel?"  
        He nodded pleasantly. I slowly turned on my heel again, picking up a large box of yogurt cases. "Right. Sir, I believe it's time for you to leave. Thank you for your company."  
        "It makes me very sad that you've considered suicide recently, milady."  
        I dropped the case of yogurt. With a crash, it cracked open, the tubs of strawberry yogurt inside bursting open and splattering across the floor. The coolers, my pants and shoes, the doors nearby were all streaked with sugary pink. I slowly turned toward Michelangelo, my eyes narrowed.  
        "How did you know about that?" I growled. "No one knew about that. I didn't tell anyone."  
        The look on his face was mournful, such a change from his uplifted, bright, hopeful smile.  
        "I am an angel, milady," he said, his eyes deep and truthful. Standing and hopping off the cooler, he bowed again. "I believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. My name is Michelangelo, and I am your guardian angel."


	2. A Purpose

         "I'm insane. I'm completely off my rocker, I've gone loopy, that's what it is, that's what it's got to be."   
        I leaned forward in my chair, pressing my fingers to my temples in disbelief as I gazed at the glowing screen of my laptop. I had ten tabs open, all to different pages of angel lore and myth, religious websites and even supernatural sites, any bit of angel lore I could get my hands on. I had spent the past few hours scouring the Internet for any sort of explanation of who this strange young man was, for validation of his ridiculous claims.  
        "Milady! Look at the little beaver creature I just caught, isn't he adorable!" Michelangelo, who had spread his tall, slender form across my bed across the room from me, gestured toward me with my vivid pink Nintendo DS in his hands.   
        I flicked my eyes up at him over the top of my laptop, annoyed. "You're not making it any easier to believe I'm not completely bonkers, Michelangelo." I straightened up and looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing with my DS, anyway? Are you playing Pokemon?"  
        He grinned at me, his mouth full of bright white teeth. "This small device is phenomenal! There is a small world within it, did you know that? And there are these precious little creatures, here look this one is a small penguin, and there was a green turtle one before!"

  I stared at him. "Wait. Are you telling me that in heaven, or wherever the heck you come from, they don't have video games? What madness is this?"  
        His eyes sparkled. He was too lost in the game to care. I sighed and flopped back into the chair, pressing my hands over my face. A thought occurred to me suddenly and my eyes snapped open. "You better not have deleted my saved game, pretty boy, or I swear to...uh...God-"  
        He looked up at me and chuckled. Then, while I looked on in horror, he grabbed the small pink system by either end and snapped it cleanly in two. Just as I opened my mouth to shriek at him, he handed it to me. Somehow in the space between leaving his hand and coming to mine, the system was entirely repaired. It looked even cleaner and brighter than it had before he had broken it. I turned it over and over in my hands in disbelief. "H-How..."  
        "Come, milady," he said, offering his hand. "I think it's time we took a walk and I explained everything to you."

        Michelangelo's hand was warm, his skin soft as we exited my home and began padding down the sidewalk. The wind stirred my hair a bit, flowing it around my shoulders. I shrugged my pink jacket further around my shoulders and pressed closer to Michelangelo. Despite the blustery cold day, he seemed to be projecting his own warmth, the wind not even seeming to touch his glistening, gossamer blonde hair.   
        "So uh," I said as we meandered down the sidewalk toward the river. "Care to explain to me what's going on here? I feel like my head is spinning."  
        There was a brief silence, as though he were gathering his thoughts, then he finally spoke, quietly and deliberately.  
        "I was not lying to you, as much as you believe I may have been," he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "Angels cannot lie. Not even a small white lie. Everything I ever say to you will be the truth, Angel's Honor." He pressed his right hand over his heart, the left hand still twined with mine. "My name is Michelangelo. I am your guardian angel, assigned to April of Minnesota, the sad girl with the loving eyes."  
        I bit my lip. "I'm confused. About a lot of things, but...like...why are you here? What are you supposed to do? Why can't anyone see you or hear you?" The questions began flooding from me before I could stop them. "And if you really are an angel, where are your wings? Your little halo thing?" I drew a little circle over my head, blinking.  
        He chuckled. "I shall explain everything, only give me a moment."  
        "I was assigned to you because of the great sadness in your soul. You have a very strong soul, a very willful, beautiful, warm one, but a broken one. You are in danger," he paused. "Please don't look so worried, I'm going to take care of you. I won't let you get hurt. But it shall take some work to keep your soul from turning Dark."  
        A whole new load of questions cropped up in my brain, but before I could ask them, he touched a finger to his lips. "A moment, please. I shall explain."  
        "My duty here is to make you happy. That is it, simple as that. I need to make you happy, truly happy, so happy your soul is no longer in any danger. Only than shall my duty be fulfilled. Think of it this way," he paused, turning to me and taking my other hand, looking down into my eyes warmly. "Human souls are good." He squeezed one of my hands. "But there are also very bad souls, Dark souls." He squeezed my other hand. "Human souls can become these dark souls, but only if something extremely dark and tragic happens to them, if they're allowed to fall so deep into darkness and despair that they turn away from Good and Light and turn Evil, turn Dark."  
        "When a soul is in danger of turning Dark, we guardian angels are assigned to it. There are many things that can turn a soul Dark. A great sadness, great stress, depression, hopelessness. Self-pity, self-consciousness. The cause is different for each person."  
        "So...," I said slowly, looking down at our hands. "You're saying my soul is in danger." I looked up at him, trembling slightly, and not because of the cold.  
        He nodded. "I'm afraid so. I'm sorry to tell you this. But please don't lose hope, I believe, very strongly, that you will never turn Dark. You have a good soul." He touched his finger to my chest, right over my heart, eyes shining. "You are truly a good person, I do not believe you could ever truly turn Dark. That is why I was assigned to you, because I believe so wholeheartedly that you can be saved." He turned serious again. "As for your other questions." He took my hand again and we started walking.  
        "I cannot be seen, heard or felt by anyone but you unless I consciously change that," he said. "Our interactions, even your parts in them, will be completely unregistered by anyone else. For example, when I speak with you at work, your coworkers and customers will see nothing but a hardworking girl doing her job as steadily as ever. At home, you will be sitting on your laptop or at your video game system."  
        "Also," he said. "I cannot interfere with your world. That is why I could break your game system, play over your saved games, or mess up your bookshelves. Because anything I touch remains entirely unaffected in your physical world. That goes for people, objects, locations. The only thing I am allowed to affect is you. Because I am here for you." He smiled brightly at me. "There are some exceptions, but they won't become important until they become important. As for your last question, about wings and halos?" He chuckled.  
        "The halos have been an embellishment from the beginning. I like them, though, I like what they symbolize. No, we do not get halos, I'm sorry to disappoint you," he smiled a bit. "The wings are another matter altogether, however. You see, when I have successfully saved your soul, when I have done the one thing that will truly make you happy for the rest of your life, then I will receive my wings. That is how an angel receives his wings, by fulfilling his guardianship duties."  
        I looked down at the pavement in front of me in thought. "So let me get this straight. You came here as my guardian angel, to save my soul, which apparently is in danger, from turning to the Dark Side. You have to do a thing, whatever that is, that will magically make me happy forever, and when it happens, you get your wings. With me so far?" He nodded. "And you can't touch or affect anything in my world. Did I leave anything out?"  
        He shook his head.   
        "Okay, so what's this one thing you need to do for me? Can we just do it and whatever?" I still wasn't entirely buying this. "Like, just get it over with?"  
        "It's not quite that simple. I'm still rather uncertain what that thing is. Like I said, it's different for everyone. Some people need to find a family. Some need closure with a loved one. Some need a romantic attachment. I haven't yet discovered what yours is." He looked at me thoughtfully. "But someone like you, you're bound to have a good one."  
        I opened my mouth to ask another avalanche of questions, but I saw his body become rigid before me.  
        "Milady," he said softly, pressing a finger over my mouth. "Stay still. Think positive thoughts."  
        I narrowed my eyes and wrenched my mouth open to retort when I was frozen into silence.  
        Behind Michelangelo, a shadow rose on the brick wall. It formed the shape of a massive wolf-shaped creature, standing on two legs with a long, furry tail. The tail whipped back and forth, forking and becoming two, as another grotesque shadowy wolf head formed beside the first, both balancing on massive, muscular shoulders. It was the eyes that were the worst, however.  
        They flashed like two fiery red rubies in the shadowy face, light flashing around them and reflecting around them.   
The sunlight seemed to bend away from the creature, as though all good things, even light, couldn't stand to be near the creature.   
        The creature opened its grisly mouth and growled, baring a mouthful of razor-sharp ebony-colored teeth. It spread its furred, muscled arms to spread grotesque, bent and broken claws.  
        I felt horror rise with the bile in my throat as I looked at the creature. I groaned as I pressed my hands to my temples.  
        You're worthless, a strange, bubbly voice echoed in my mind. Disgusting. Look at your face, look at your clothes. How could you think anyone could love you? You're insane, too, just look at what's happening to you.  
        "Stop!" I screeched, pressing my fingers to my temples and stepping away from Michelangelo. "Stop this!"  
        "Milady!" Michelangelo was moving his hands toward his belt. "Positive thoughts. You're beautiful, you're kind and thoughtful and your friends adore you."  
        Before I could respond, he swiped his hand through the air. A shining silver and gold sword appeared in his hands, a flashing diamond in the hilt. Michelangelo's eyes flashed as he bared the weapon toward the creature.   
        The creature snarled and backed away, the voices in my head receding for a moment. I saw my chance. I began flooding my mind with Michelangelo's words. Kind. Beautiful, loved, adored. I held on to his words for dear life, desperately pushing back against the flood of negativity threatening to steal my mind away.  
        "The Sword Heavensward, The Demon's Bane," the jet-black creature snarled, fixing its flashing red eyes on Michelangelo. "How did you get it, Skyspawn? That is-" The creature didn't get a chance to finish. Michelangelo thrashed the sword toward it, driving it back toward a patch of sunlight at the end of the street. The sword flashed brightly for a moment...  
        And he buried it in the creature's shoulder. With an unearthly yowl, the creature fell back into the sunlight and dissipated like shadow, feathery, dusty black tendrils floating through the air and away, disappearing.  
        Michelangelo stood in the sunlight, his pearly skin glistening. He turned his head toward me and softened when he saw me clinging to the wall, eyes wide, shivering.  
        "Wh-What was that?" I squeaked, flinching back as he walked slowly toward me, sheathing the sword in a sheathe I hadn't noticed around his waist before. "H-How did you...what-"  
        I was cut off when he drew me into a strong embrace, his arms strong and secure around me. He pressed his face into my shoulder.

        "That was a Demon, milady," he said softly, his voice musical in my ear. "That was what an Angel becomes if he turns Dark."


	3. Gabriel & Gideon

        I curled on my bed, my face buried in my legs, my arms wrapped around my legs, shivering. I had avoided everything and everyone since the encounter with the Demon.  
        "They mess with your mind," Michelangelo had explained to me. "Those things you heard were the things it thought it could tell you to drive you insane. Demons want nothing more than to create more Demons. They want to turn our steads into Dark, insane humans, so we in turn become corrupted and turn into Demons."  
        He had told me that if a guardian angel fails his mission, if their stead's soul turns to the Dark and becomes corrupted, the bond the angel has with their stead is so strong that the angel then becomes corrupted as well. And a corrupted angel becomes a Demon, like the two-headed wolf Demon we had faced.  
        It was all so much to take in. Angels were real, Demons were real, they were fighting each other, Michelangelo had a sword, I was in danger of becoming Dark...  
        And just yesterday I was worried about which job I should apply for. Now my entire life and that of a bloody angel hung in the balance.  
        I snorted into my knees. Michelangelo looked up to see me laughing.   
        "Milady?"  
        I looked up at him. He tilted his head, his blonde ponytail falling like a waterfall down his shoulder, eyes curious. I chuckled.  
        "I just realized I'm living a fucking anime right now," I giggled. "There are so many fangirls who would be pissed if they knew."  
        "Howdy ho neighbor!"  
        I shrieked and nearly fell off the bed as someone swung through my window.   
        Well, more accurately, he swung in, then out, then in, then out of my window.  
        He was hanging with his legs swung over the branch of the tree outside my room, swinging in and out of my window like he was doing sit-ups.   
        I shrieked. "WHO ARE YOU?"  
        He turned and beamed at me.

        He had a head of shining white shaggy hair, and upturned golden eyes that had a sheen of pink in certain lights. He wore a black-and-white jacket over a black T-shirt. His shirt fell down a bit as he swung into my window, revealing his slightly tanned tummy.  
        "Awe, Mic," he said, puffing out a cheek in annoyance. "She's cute. Why do you always get the cute ones?"  
        Michelangelo sighed. "I'm so sorry, milady, this is Gabriel. He is a fellow guardian. Gabriel, this is April, my stead." He narrowed his eyes at the joyful boy in the window. "Shouldn't you be with your stead right now?"  
        Gabriel laughed. "You're no fun, Mic. Always right to the point with this one," he said to me, gesturing toward Michelangelo and winking. "Relax, Mic, she's fine. She's sleeping. And before you complain, I set an opfic on her."  
        Michelangelo puffed out a sigh. "I told you not to call me Mic. And you know there are things an opfic can't stop."  
        Gabriel shrugged. "I think you know as well as I do if it's something that's strong enough to break though an opfic, then it wouldn't make a difference if I was there or not."  
        "Wait wait wait," I said. "Who are you, and what's an opfic?"  
        Gabriel watched me speak, his eyes sparkling as though he wanted to cuddle me. I couldn't help but admit he was adorable.  
        "I'm so glad you asked, beautiful!" he bubbled, swinging through and landing on the floor in my bedroom, leaping onto the bed and throwing his arms around me. Michelangelo looked at him flatly as he rubbed his cheek against mine. A soft scent of sunbathed lavender filled my nose.

        "You're so cute. 'Opfic' is O-P-F-C. It stands for 'Order of Protection, First Class.' It's basically the best kind of protective spell an angel can leave. Nothing breaks through it." He beamed.  
        "Except Demons," Michelangelo mumbled.  
        Gabriel waved him off. "Relax, Mic, you've got no chill." He grinned at me. "Man, am I glad I came to see what Mic was up to! I'm glad I got to meet his cute stead!" He winked.  
        I blushed a little. Gabriel was charming, he was cute too. And he was considerably more upbeat that Michelangelo was. I looked over at Michelangelo, then back at Gabriel.   
        "Well, you're welcome here," I said softly to him. "You seem sweet."  
        Gabriel's eyes lit up and he beamed across at Mich. "You hear that, Mic? She likes me!" He wiggled happily and hugged me again. "You're so sweet, I just wanna crawl on your lap and curl up and fall asleep!"  
        I jumped a little as Gabriel suddenly disappeared. In his place sat a small, willowy, soft-looking cat with shining white fur and big golden eyes. With a purr, it padded across the bed and crawled onto my lap. It turned a few circles and curled up in the warmth of my lap, tail twitching, purring audibly. It was so cute I nearly cried. I stroked its fur and its purring intensified.  
        Michelangelo sighed. "That's one of Gabriel's...many...talents. He can shapeshift into that cat. Though I'm not certain why he would want to..." He eyed Gabriel's position on my lap. "Actually, never mind." He sighed.  
        I stroked Gabriel's soft, shining fur and felt his little kitty paws knead gently into my leg in the contented way kittens always did. I smiled gently.  
        Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Michelangelo was sweet, if a little stuffy, and Gabriel was absolutely adorable. It was easy to forget the horror of the Demon I had seen earlier.  
        "I heard Michelangelo has a new stead, and she's cute."  
        Another voice murmured in the silence, and I jumped a bit. Gabriel shifted a bit and flicked his tail, but he re-adjusted and curled back up in my lap.  
        Another young man had appeared in my room, leaning in the corner. 

        He had ruffled reddish-orange hair, pinned back in a loose ponytail. A few locks hung messily and sexily in his face. His eyes were a darker blue than Michelangelo's, and a single dot of a silver earring poked from his left earlobe. A navy blue sweatshirt hung on his form and he wore tight jeans. His feet were bare. He eyed me warmly and I felt something in my core shiver as he looked me over. I bit my lip as his tongue darted out to lick his lips.  
        "Wow, I heard right," he purred.  
        Gabriel raised his head from my leg and glared in the new arrival's direction, nudging closer to me protectively.  
        Michelangelo shifted and sighed, pressing a finger to his temple and looking exhausted.   
        "I should have known you'd all show up to embarrass me," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Milady, this overly seductive new arrival is Gideon."  
        "My pleasure, milady," Gideon said, offering his hand to shake and emphasizing the word as he kissed my hand tenderly. I blushed bright pink.  
        "Get away from her, Gideon," Michelangelo narrowed his eyes.  
        "My my, very protective, are we?" Gideon chuckled. "Don't worry, Miccy, I won't lay a finger on your lovely stead unless she asks me to." He winked.  
        Michelangelo buried his face in his hands. I chuckled a bit.   
        "Michelangelo, I think this is the first time I've seen you look flustered," I chuckled, stroking Gabriel's soft fur and making the cat purr happily. "I like your friends, they're sweet." Gabriel butted his head against my hand, seeking more affection. I obliged, scratching him under the chin.  
        Michelangelo peered at me, then straightened up and took a deep breath. "I am glad you are happy, milady." He softened a bit as he watched me rub Gabriel's belly, giggling softly.   
        Gideon leaned over and murmured to Michelangelo softly, so I couldn't hear. "I think you're on the right track. Just be careful." He looked at Michelangelo and an understanding passed between them. "I know it's tempting to become too attached, but we can't afford any more mistakes."  
        Michelangelo gazed in my direction again and nodded. "I know. But she won't be a mistake. I won't let her."


	4. His Son

        "Why don't you start by telling me about yourself?"  
        I was strolling alongside Michelangelo. It was a beautiful spring day, the buds on the trees sprouting from the once-barren branches, the blades of freshly green grass reaching for sunlight, everything throwing off its rigid, frozen blanket of snow. A tiny droplet of melted snow dripped onto my nose from the trees forming a canopy above us and I wiggled my nose with distaste to throw it off.  
        We were walking down the bicycle path. At the moment we were alone, but we had been passed occasionally by bike riders and dog walkers throughout our stroll thus far, everyone out enjoying the first truly beautiful day in early spring.  
        "Well, what would you like to know?" I said, tugging back the sleeves of my violet sweatshirt to rub my hands together, my eyes thoughtful.  
        Mich was dressed more casually than usual, in a simple soft yellow button-up long-sleeved shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and carefully pressed tan pants. He looked at me thoughtfully. He was trying to find ways to know me better, in the hopes that it would help him discover the 'one thing' I needed to make me truly happy.  
        "Anything. What do you tell people when you first meet them? Start with that."  
        "Okay, uh..." I didn't really like talking about myself much, and the spotlight made me uncomfortable. "I like anime, and video games. I love writing." My voice faltered and quieted, a blush settling on my cheeks.  
        "Writing. Yes, I see a strong passion for that in your soul," he said warmly. "It seems even the thought of the written word warms you. Tell me, have you considered publishing anything officially?"  
        I shook my head...then nodded. "Yes, actually. I'm just scared to."  
        I felt him take my hand gently, his eyes turned up in a gentle smile. "Scared? Why?"  
        I trembled a bit. "I'm afraid people won't like it. That my drafts will get rejected, that nothing I propose will sound good, that it will never be as perfect as I want it to be, that I'll run out of ideas...all kinds of things." I trembled.   
        "Milady," he squeezed my hand and turned me toward him, gently pressing a finger to my chin and smiling. "Listen. You can't let the fear of what might happen stop you from doing something you truly wish to do. I can see your heart, you truly do wish to publish something, to share a story with the world. Don't let your fears be stronger than your hopes, milady." He smiled pleasantly.  
        I sighed and nodded, continuing to walk. We continued in silence until he spoke again.  
        "Will you show me somewhere special to you?"   
        I looked up at him, my eyes wide. "What do you mean?"  
        He looked down at me. "A special place. Somewhere you go when you need to be alone, or somewhere you have fond memories of."  
        Even before he finished his sentence, I knew the perfect place.

        I sat on the ground, my palms flat against the ground, my fingers twined into the grass. I closed my eyes and felt the breeze rustling the grass, like breath from some giant monster. I smelled the freshly growing woods around me, waking to the warmth of spring. The grass beneath me was damp but I didn't mind. My fingers felt the tiny fragile blossom of a flower poking through the grass and my fingertip caressed it, careful not to pluck its delicate stem from the ground.  
        "This place is beautiful," Michelangelo said softly, some distance behind me.  
        I jumped a bit. I had forgotten he was there. I opened my eyes and searched the campsite around me.  
        It was a place I had been countless times before. Though it was in the same town I grew up in, every camping trip felt like a new experience, a new chance to make memories. I had many memories of this place, all stored in my mind like a scrapbook.  
        "I've been coming here since I was little," I said, gazing around.  
        The other campsites around me were devoid of life, it was too early in the season for campers. The park belonged to the wildlife now, a wildlife waking to spring and erupting in joyous colors. The trees were shaking off their deadened bark and sprouting emerald green buds that would soon burst into fresh leaves. Ferns, grasses and bushes were beginning to sprout from the forest floor, which was rich with nutrient-filled soil. Tiny, delicate woods flowers poked between the blades of grass, as though vying for attention.  
        I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the cool, refreshing scent of a misty woods fill me with relaxation.  
        "I remember when I was little," I said, a smile growing on my face. "I was camping here with my parents and I didn't fully understand how wildlife worked. I left a tiny grape on the picnic table, hoping a bear would come and take it. It was still there the next day." I chuckled. "One other time, I was sitting in a chair when a monarch butterfly landed on my big toe. He stayed with me for a long time, too. I named him Regent." I closed my eyes again. "But my favorite memory is the deer."  
        I curled my fingers in the grass and I remembered, the breath knocked out of me as I remembered.  
        "I was coming out of the outhouse over there when my mom got my attention from our campsite. I looked around and there were deer. Everywhere. A whole herd of them, just standing there," my eyes opened, and I breathed, trembling with excitement. "There were so many of them, a bunch of does and even a few tiny fawns. They didn't even mind that we were there, they just stood there looking around. It was...beautiful."  
        I looked over to see Michelangelo sitting on the picnic table behind me, his eyes closed, a tranquil smile on his face. "I can imagine."  
        "I'm not much of a country girl," I continued. "But there's just enough wilderness in me." I stood and looked around, my eyes widening. "Michelangelo..." I breathed.  
        They were there. The deer. They seemed to materialize in the woods around us, big tawny beauties with slender legs and tufted white tails. Their tails flicked, their hooves thudded against the ground. More and more raised their heads and appeared out of the growing underbrush, looking calmly in my direction.  
        A tiny fawn grew bold and approached me, cautiously pawing his way past me, eyeing me curiously.  
        I looked around as Michelangelo joined me, laying a hand on my shoulder gently.   
        "Did you do this?" I asked, watching the herd around me, the clutch of breathing, beating beasts. "Did you call them here?"  
        He smiled mysteriously. "It's my job to make you happy, milady."

        "There's something I've been wondering, Mich," I said as we trekked back on the trail. I couldn't get the image of the deer out of my head, their flicking tails and ears, their bright, inquisitive eyes, as though they knew me and wanted to remind me of the happiness and tranquility I had felt.   
        "Oh?"  
        I bit my lip. "When...when we fought that Demon. You had a sword."  
        His hand tightened on mine. I wondered if that was a cue to stop, but I plunged forward. It was time for some answers.  
        "I've never seen it before. None of the websites I checked had any information on it, either. What did it call the sword? 'Heavensward, Wolf's Bane'? What does that mean?"  
        Michelangelo's hand was trembling.   
        "Mich?" I said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. He pressed a palm over my hand and looked at me, and his eyes looked so sorrowful I wondered if I shouldn't have asked. Then he gave me a soft, sad smile.  
        "It's my father's sword," he said, and the sheathe appeared around his waist. Reaching down, he pulled it from its sheathe and offered to let me look at it. "Don't touch it, it's dangerous for anyone but an angel to hold."  
        I leaned over it, feeling a heavy force drawing me toward it. It was beautiful, almost hypnotically so. The hilt was pure, shining gold, not smudged or tarnished in the least. A single glittering diamond was set in the hilt, and a design of glittering gold wings spread from it. The blade was long and pin-straight, the inner bit silver and the sharpened blades tinged in gold.   
        "It's beautiful," I murmured as he sheathed it again. "It's your father's?"  
        He looked away, nodding, as the sheathe disappeared around his waist.   
        "What is your father's name?"  
        He was silent, reaching down to take my hand again. I let the question drop.   
        I had learned very little about Mich in the past few days. As much as he was eager to learn about me, he seemed hesitant to share little of himself, and I wondered why. Was it dangerous, perhaps, to allow himself to get too close to me, to open up too much? It pained me that he wouldn't reveal much of himself to me, and I think he realized that. That seemed to be why he could never meet my eyes whenever he danced around personal questions, like where he came from or who his father was.  
        As we neared the end of the trail, he stopped abruptly. I turned, worry bubbling up in my chest again. Another Demon? But he was looking at me with the most serious look I had ever seen on his face.  
        "My father," he said, eyeing me. "My father is Michael. The archangel Michael, head of all the angels."


	5. Happiness

        I massaged my temples and groaned.  
        "Your heart turned anxious, milady," Michelangelo's eyes flicked up from the novel he was reading in the corner, his reading glasses shining on the end of his nose. "What has happened?"  
        I peered at him over the top of my laptop and blew a sigh out through the curtain of hair that had settled around my face. "N-Nothing."  
        Michelangelo sighed and set the novel aside with a soft thump. Rising from his chair with a soft sigh, he crossed the room to sit beside me.   
        "It is not nothing, milady," he said gently, shutting the top of my computer and tilting my face toward him, eyes concerned. "I do wish you wouldn't lie to me. It is okay to allow me to be concerned for you, I am your Guardian Angel. It is my duty to be concerned for your well-being, and I cannot do that if you insist upon hiding your feelings from me."  
        I sighed and looked down. "I guess...everything's just happening at once, Mich. My friend's going through a horrible time, my other friend is too, I feel like I'm not only losing all my friends but..." I felt tears touch my eyes. "I feel like I'm losing myself too."  
        I could see him softening and saddening at my words, as though he could feel the heavy melancholy that hung over my chest like dead weight.  
        "I-I'm angry or depressed all the time, I only get happy when really good things happen. Very few things make me laugh anymore. I'm scared of myself, Mich," I said, curling myself into a ball beside him and trembling. "The smallest thing can set me off. Someone can say something just the wrong way and I'll want to throw myself out a window or cry for hours. I'm a ball of stress and depression and I don't know what to do anymore, I feel like my head's going to explode. There are times I just don't care anymore, don't care what people on the Internet say or think or care what's going on in the world or care who's hurting or what's happening to my friends. And that scares me because I want to care about all of that, I want to care about everything and everybody but there are so many voices in my head telling me so many things and so many people expecting so many things from me I can't breathe-"  
        I wheezed, leaning on him.  
        Mich didn't move at first, but when he did it was slow and deliberate. He gently took my shoulders and instantly I felt the terror and emotion that had clamped around my heart ease. I let a great, watery gasp erupt from my lungs and gasped for breath, then I pressed my face into his chest and cried. I felt his arms close around me and he rocked me softly, humming a tune until my cries were calmed. I whimpered softly. He leaned back and kissed my forehead, smiling softly.  
        "Milady," he said, his eyes bright. "I think we have discovered why I was called to serve you. Come, I think I have an idea that may cheer you up."

        "Can I open my eyes yet, Mich?" I said timidly.  
        "Not yet, milady," Gabriel's voice bubbled up from nearby. "Wait just a moment, we're putting the finishing touches on it! I'll guide you when he's ready. You trust me, right?"  
        "Of course I trust you, Gabe."  
        I heard his adorable giggle. "She trusts me, Mich!"  
        "I heard."  
        I bit my lip nervously. Michelangelo had taken the keys to my car and driven us through town after my episode in my room. Contacting Gabriel for help ("Only because I know you're fond of him. Otherwise I'd call someone else."), he had instructed me to keep my eyes closed as I waited...wherever we were.  
        I had tried everything to glean a sense of where we had stopped. I knew most places in my hometown well, having done much exploring with my family and alone, but nothing was registering as familiar. There were no car sounds, so we couldn't be near any streets. There were bird twitters in the trees and the soft rustling of leaves around me, but there were trees everywhere in the town. It was a lush, green blanket that spread below whenever one climbed the tallest hills in the town.  
        I paused in my pondering as I heard footsteps on the grass nearby.   
        "Alright, milady," Gabriel murmured tenderly in my ear as he placed one hand on my waist and took one of my hands in his other hand. "Come with me. Keep your eyes closed."  
        I took a deep breath and allowed him to steer me forward. I felt my feet sink into soft grass when we finally stopped. I hopped on my toes, eager to open my eyes.  
        "Gabriel, get your hand off her waist, that's obscene," Michelangelo's voice sounded a bit different, but I couldn't place just why. His voice softened. "Open your eyes, milady."  
        I opened my eyes and nearly fainted.  
        We were at the brewery gardens. It was a beautiful garden behind the brewery in town that was meticulously maintained and opened to the public. Flowers clustered everywhere along the grounds, in rainbows of pinks, violets and yellows. Arches spread across the walkways, outfitted in emerald greens like bejeweled capes. Elegant swan fountains spat tiny trickles of water into clean pools where koi fish and goldfish swirled together. But none of this was the reason I nearly fainted, I had seen all of this before.  
        Michelangelo (it had to be him, for there was no way it was really who it looked like) was kneeling next to a low wooden table spread out in the grass. Sunlight dappled his face as he smiled at me, but it wasn't his usual blonde haired, blue-eyed face.  
        He was the perfect image of Honda Kiku, or Japan, a character I had long adored and attached myself to. He was a character I related to on many levels, from his introverted tendencies, gentle touch, kind heart and soft voice. I had long made it clear to all those who knew me that Japan was deeply entrenched in my heart, or "husbando #1" as I liked to call him. The character I loved the most. And here he was, in the flesh, smiling at me in the mid-summer sunshine.  
        "Come, milady," he even had the trademark accent given to Japan, switching the L's and R's. His voice lilted over the warm air. "Sit with me." He patted the table across from him.  
        I walked through the grass as though I were walking in a dream. I couldn't quite believe this was reality, that Kiku, the character I loved so very much, was sitting there, right there. I knelt beside the table, never taking my eyes from him.  
"M-Mich-"  
        He cut me off with a gentle shake of his head. "Please, milady. Or shall I say, April-chan." He smiled pleasantly when I blushed. "You may address me as Kiku. I know in your heart you wish to. I peered into your heart and saw this character at the center. He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"  
        I nodded, pressing a hand over my heart and eyeing him, still disbelieving. He was a perfect imitation, from Kiku's mannerisms and voice, to his traditional Japanese dress in shades of brown and violet. I could almost imagine a soft, white dog peeking out from around his side...  
        I gasped as Pochi, Japan's tiny adorable dog, peeked out at me, wagging his fluffy tail. He bounded around the table and nuzzled my side, whimpering happily. I reached down, almost afraid to touch him, as though this would all disappear if I did. But he was there, he was as solid as if he had always existed. His fur was soft and as fluffy as a teddy bear's. I looked back at Michelangelo/Kiku.  
        "H-How did you do all this?" I asked, looking around at him, the dog and the table, which was set for tea.   
        Reaching to pour me a cup, he chuckled. "I can become anything you need me to be, milady. Anything to make you happy. I can become a best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a lover." He paused and smiled at me. "Anything you need."  
        He handed me a cup of tea and sat back with his own, cradling it in the usual way Japan did. "And when you were crying just then, I saw that you needed me. You needed Japan, you needed your prince." He sipped his tea and eyed me thoughtfully. "He loves you. You know that?"  
        I blinked. "Wh-What?" I felt my fingers tremble as I lifted my cup to my mouth. I paused it halfway there.  
        He chuckled. "Kiku. All the passion and warmth you feel for him, he feels it just as much."  
        "H-How do you know?"  
        "Milady," he leaned forward and winked. "I am him."

        After the tea was finished, Michelangelo/Kiku rose from the table and offered his arm. "Shall we, milady? It is getting late and you should get to bed."  
        I took his arm and began walking with him. Halfway to the car I paused and hugged him tightly. He was still Kiku, and I buried my face into his chest and smelled Kiku's exotic, beautiful floral scent.  
        "Thank you, Michelangelo," I murmured into his chest. "Thank you so much. This means so much to me."  
        He pressed a hand to the top of my head and murmured softly into my ear. "Anything for you, milady. Anything to make you happy."


	6. Elliott

        "Milady? What are these?"   
        Mich and I were at the grocery store, the same one where I worked. I tightened my grip on the basket I held in my hands and tapped my finger thoughtfully against the bright red plastic as I peered through the glossy glass doors of the freezer aisle.  
        I looked over at him and chuckled.   
        The blonde angel was holding a small, colorful box of ice pops. They were Bomb Pops, small red, white and blue rocket-shaped ice treats.   
        "Those are Bomb Pops, Mich," I said, peering through the glassy doors in front of me again and trying to choose a flavor of ice cream.   
        "You eat them, correct?"  
        I snorted. "Yes, you eat them." I flicked open the door of the freezer and pulled out chocolate chip cookie dough. I had been tempted to try something new and different, but who was I kidding? When chocolate chip cookie dough was an option, there might as well not be any other options.  
        Plunking the container into my basket, I joined Mich, who was still eyeing the box of Bomb Pops, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.   
        "I don't understand," he said, drawing his finger along the illustration of the pop on the front of the box. "What is the point of making them so colorful and bright?"  
        I laughed and took the box from him. "That's how products work, Mich. The brighter you make it, the better a chance you have of getting someone's attention."  
        "Oh, so just like people," he said calmly. I looked at him, tilting my head, and he smiled. "The brighter and more friendly you are, the more people like you."  
        I softened slightly. "Yes, Mich, just like people." I held up the box. "Do you want to try them?"

        I closed my fingers around the rough metal of the chains holding the swing up. Kicking my feet slightly, I propelled myself forward, the chains clinking softly as I began to swing very gently forward and backward. The early spring breeze tickled my ankles and I shivered slightly in my thin violet sweatshirt. I looked over at Mich.  
        The angel was sitting on the swing beside me, deep in concentration as he examined a Bomb Pop. I giggled at how focused he was on the colorful treat.  
        "It's so cold," he murmured, pressing a fingertip to the ice cream. "Why would humans put something so cold into their mouths willingly?"  
        "That's how ice cream works, Mich," I said, still giggling. "It wouldn't be ice cream if it wasn't cold, it'd be melted."  
        He looked at me, his innocent blue eyes wide. "I'm going to taste it now."  
        "Be my guest. And relax, it's not going to bite you."  
        He placed the pop into his mouth and tasted it tentatively. He blinked.  
        "It's...sweet," he said. He took another taste, then began tentatively nibbling the end of the pop. "Oh goodness. This is delicious!" He beamed at me and I giggled. "You humans have a great taste for sweets, yes? Such adorable creatures you are." He ate the pop happily as we sat together in companionable silence. After he had finished it, he played with the stick, which was stained with red, white and blue.  
        "Milady?"  
        I looked up. He was tapping the end of the stick against his lip and eyeing me thoughtfully. "I have something I wish to give to you."  
        Placing the stick gently in his mouth and reaching for the location of the hidden sheathe of his sword, he flicked his fingers and a smaller pouch appeared at his hips.  
        Unclasping the button fastening the green velvet pouch, he slowly withdrew a small black box bound in a golden ribbon. He examined the box for a moment, then held it toward me, his eyes bright.  
        I took the box. It was much heavier than I would have expected. I placed it down on my lap and looked at Mich, unsure.  
        "Open it, milady," he said with a warm chuckle. "What was it that you said? 'It's not going to bite you.'"  
        I gently undid the ribbon, my hands shaking a bit as I did so. For some reason I was uneasy about opening this particular gift, though I couldn't place quite why.  
        The ribbon fell away and I lifted the sturdy cover of the box.  
        I gasped.  
        Inside, on a bed of cotton-white satin, glistening in the spring sun, lay a dagger.  
        The hilt was a grip of solid gold, so clean and spotless I could see my reflection in it. A diamond was set into the hilt, just like the one in Mich's sword, Heavensward. Two strands of gold fell from the quillon and elegantly twisted around one another, meeting and joining just at the end of the pommel. The blade itself was short and so sharp I was afraid to even gently graze my fingertip across it. It was glistening silver, with a thin edge of gold along the blades.  
        As I examined the blade, I noticed a thin line of text in the blade near the hilt.  
        Claad'trist, it read.  
        "Clad-trist?" I murmured, my eyebrows furrowed.  
        "Clahd-trist," Mich corrected me gently. "It's in the angel's language. It means 'one who pierces the clouds' or simply 'Cloudpiercer."  
        I looked up at him, my eyes shining. "Oh Mich...this is beautiful...but I can't use this." I bit my lip.  
        Mich didn't look surprised. "Milady." He gently took my hand in his and looked at me seriously. "I know how you feel about violence and hurting others. But you've seen Demons, you've seen what they are and a bit of what they can do. I'm frightened for you, milady. If I am not around for some reason...I want you to have a means to protect yourself. And without a Divine Weapon, you cannot do that. No other weapon will harm a Demon."  
        I looked back down at Cloudpiercer, still settled in the satin. "But...I don't know how to wield a dagger, Mich. I'm a 22-year-old girl who spends most of her time on the Internet. The most dagger wielding I've ever done is in video games and there isn't an X button to press here." I trembled, running my other hand's index finger along the hilt of the dagger.  
        "Hold it," Mich said. "Hold it in your hands and Cloudpiercer will tell you what to do."  
        I looked at him, unsure, but he nodded. I gently closed my hands around the hilt of the dagger and lifted it from the box. It was light in my hands, as though it were the perfect weight for me. I gave it a few experimental swings. It felt good in my hands. I gasped with a rush of newfound confidence, as it filled my chest.   
        I could defend myself now.  
        I had gone for so long feeling defenseless, the weak, timid girl who kept those around her happy, but the second things would take a turn for the worst she would have to run. I was not a fighter. I could not fight. I would be absolutely slaughtered in a combat. But now, I had a chance. I looked over at Mich, my eyes wide and bright. He smiled a bit.  
        "That is Cloudpiercer," he said. "That feeling you feel, the confidence in your own abilities? That is the dagger. It was made for you, made to be exactly what you needed it to be, and it appears you needed it to give you the confidence to wield it." He stood and examined the dagger, leaning over it so his blonde ponytail fell over his shoulder. He rubbed his chin in thought. "it turned out beautiful,' he said finally, leaning back.   
        I looked at him, confused, and he chuckled.  
        "I wasn't sure what Cloudpiercer was going to look like when you opened it," he explained. "Divine Weapons take the shape and form of whatever their wielder needs them to be, whatever will be easiest for them to wield. I knew it would take the form of a blade, but I wasn't sure what kind." He peered at the dagger again. "It's beautiful. It suits you." He winked and I blushed softly.  
        "You can store it in its hilt," he continued. "Yours will work just like mine. It will appear when you need it to."  
        Following his lead, I lifted the dagger and drew it near my hips. I jumped a bit as a black leather hilt appeared at my waist, complete with a gold buckle fastening it. I slid Cloudpiercer into the sheathe and it fit easily.   
        "There," Mich said, pressing the tips of his fingers together as he watched the hilt disappear around my waist. "Now only call upon it whenever you have need of it, and it will come."

        Later that night, I strolled through the quieting streets of my neighborhood. It was twilight, and distant rumbles signaled the oncoming approach of a thunderstorm. I could smell the rain already, a metallic smell. The streetlights formed halos of amber light against the darkening sky and the trees whispered softly in the breeze. The heels of my shoes clacked softly on the pavement. I had my hands in my pockets, my hood up against the chilly night air.  
        I had asked Mich to stay home while I took a walk. I needed to gather my thoughts and be alone for a little while. He had been hesitant, given what had happened during our last walk, but I had convinced him by reminding him of the dagger hung at my waist and assuring him I wouldn't go far.  
        I crossed the street and padded toward the park. The gently sloping lawn of green grass gave way at the bottom to a small plain of water-logged muck and grassy land before dropping abruptly into the river.  
        The river was engorged with melted snow, the waves pounding against the drenched rocks of the shore. I paused at the bottom of the hill and closed my eyes. The rushing murmur of the river gently tickled my eardrums.  
        "So you're the one Michelangelo is guarding," a soft voice said nearby.  
        Squealing, I snapped my eyes open, reflexively snapping my hand to Cloudpiercer and drawing it from its sheathe.  
        A hooded figure stood in dark relief against the streetlights behind me, its hands in its pockets. It moved toward me and I brandished Cloudpiercer, terrified.  
        "Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking.  
        The figure stopped and chuckled softly. It was a male.   
        "You can put that away," he said softly, his voice had a softly exotic accent to it. I couldn't quite place it. "I'm not going to hurt you."  
        I tightened my grip on the hilt of the dagger and narrowed my eyes.   
        "Ah, oh well, I didn't expect that to work anyway. I would have thought you incurably stupid if it had."  
        The figure reached up to gently remove its hood. I bit my lip as it revealed the handsome face of the angel beneath it.  
        The angel eyed me, and I could see him sizing me up. I stood straighter, lowering Cloudpiercer, still hesitant to put the dagger away completely.  
        "April, is it?" he nodded when I nodded. "I am Elliott."  
        I stepped closer to him and he allowed me.   
        His skin was a beautiful rich, dark color. His hair was scruffy and sapphire blue. I couldn't see his face well, but I could see his eyes, a luminous sea green color. Several silver earrings glinted in his earlobes.   
        "Elliott," I said softly, my voice quiet against the waves of the river behind me. I blushed softly. There was no denying he was handsome. "It's nice to meet you."  
        He nodded softly. "It's been awhile since anyone's said that to me." He looked at me thoughtfully. "I wasn't going to come. I have no business in Michelangelo's affairs, or the affairs of any of the other angels, really." He sighed and I wondered what the story behind that was. I didn't ask, biting the question back as he continued. "But I was curious. There are the strangest whisperings about you, rumors that reached even me." He tapped his finger against his side. "Hm. Well, I suppose we shall have to keep an eye on you then." He turned as though to walk away. "Oh, and one more thing." He turned back and nodded toward my waist. "Your reaction to my arrival was smart. Keep it that way."  
        As he turned back toward the streetlights to make his exit, I couldn't help but let a soft gasp escape me.  
        The light flickered over his face, only for a moment, but it was long enough for me to see the black mark, like a tattoo but somehow more sinister, that reached from his jawline, up his cheek and to his left eye. It looked like an oil-colored scar.


	7. The Bend Before the Break

        I shrugged my sweatshirt off and as I hung it on the hook by the door, I gazed across the room at the luminous red clock. 8:34, it read. I breathed a sigh of relief. My entire stroll had taken a mere half hour, not nearly long enough to send Michelangelo into one of his flurries of concern over my well-being.  
        I ascended the steps and slid into my room.  
        "Milady," Michelangelo said, rising from my armchair. "I found this book and-"  
        I jumped as he slapped the book closed with one hand, his eyes wide as he looked at me. In the instant he met my eyes, I knew he knew.  
        From the moment I had met Elliott, I had had a strange emotion clinging to my chest. It was sad, yet sweet, like a bittersweet piece of candy. I bit my tongue a bit in the silence following Michelangelo's cut-off sentence. Something nagged in my mind, something Elliott had mentioned.  
        I have no business in Michelangelo's affairs, he had said. Or the affairs of any of the other angels, really.  
        I wondered what he had meant by that. Why did they seem to shun him? Was it purely because of his dreary appearance, his angsty air? Or was there more to the story?  
        Surely there was. I had only just met him.  
        "Mich, is something-"  
        "You met someone, milady," Michelangelo said, his voice dangerously low as he set the book aside, avoiding my eyes. "While you were on your walk. Didn't you?"  
        I tapped my finger on my palm, suddenly very uncomfortable, the air in the room had tightened, making it almost difficult to breathe. Why was I suffocating like this?  
        "I-I did," I stammered. "B-But I don't see why-"  
        "He was mysterious. Wore a black hood. Blue hair," Michelangelo lifted his eyes to gaze at me, his eyes narrowed. "A black mark on his face."  
        I stepped back, eyes wide, suddenly feeling my heart fluttering against my chest like a caged bird. For the first time I could remember, I was actually frightened of Michelangelo.  
        "I..."  
        "Milady," Michelangelo stepped forward to take my hands. I stepped away from him, glaring at him accusingly and slapping his hands away, my eyes wide with fear. He sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Listen, milady." He sank onto the bed, his face in his hands. "I know who it is you have met." He looked up at me, and I was startled by the sadness in his eyes. "Milady, please. I know what it is you are feeling. I know the stirrings in your heart when you think of him, but I beg of you, do not allow these thoughts or feelings or emotions to continue. Please."  
        I stepped back from him as though he had slapped me. I felt anger lash up suddenly, unbidden.  
        "I don't see why," I snapped. "What's wrong with him? He didn't do anything to me, he was very polite."  
        Michelangelo sighed, his face tired. "He would seem that way, yes, at first. But milady, you do not know him. You do not know who he is or what he is capable of. He is not good, milady. Your feelings for him...they will lead you down a dark path and leave you broken." He stood and pressed his palms to my cheeks. "As your guardian it is my job to keep you safe, milady. I just want to protect you. Protect you from people like him. Do you understand me?" He looked into my eyes, seemingly desperate for me to answer in the affirmative.  
        Feeling my heart thudding in my chest, my mind whirring, I looked up at him. In that moment, I felt something bend inside of me. I swallowed roughly.  
        "I understand, Mich," I said, my voice strained. "I won't see him again."  
        But my heart knew that I was lying.


	8. The Break

        I was uncharacteristically silent and cold toward Michelangelo over the next few days. When he would speak to me directly, I would give him cold, snappish answers. Something icy had settled in my chest, freezing solid the feelings resting there after meeting Elliott, and I blamed them nearly entirely upon Mich.   
        It was a painful feeling. It felt as though every time I turned, an icy spike speared into my heart.  
        The worst part, I told myself, was that I had no idea why any of this was happening.  
        Michelangelo refused to talk any further about Elliott after our first discussion about him. He refused to answer any of my questions about the dark, mysterious angel.   
        "What's wrong with him?" I had babbled after promising (and lying) not to see Elliott again. "What did he do? Why do the other angels seem to dislike him so much? Is he an outcast? Why does he have that mark on his face? What happened?"  
        But no answers were forthcoming. Michelangelo was strongly tight-lipped on the subject, so much so it was infuriating. And out of character.   
        It made me realize just how little I knew about my guardian angel. It seemed suddenly unfair to me that I had opened my heart to him, that he seemed to know so much about me, how I felt, what my soul looked like, what my favorite and least favorite things were, what bothered me...he read me like an open book, and yet he revealed very little about himself to me.   
        And the more I thought about how little I knew about him, the angrier I got at him. It was infuriating, I thought, and unfair, that he would learn so much about me, about my secrets and feelings, and yet reveal so little about himself. This guardianship was a two-way street, as far as I was concerned, and his side was devoid of traffic.   
        I gritted my teeth one day while we were sitting in my bedroom. He was in his usual spot, legs crossed daintily, glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading a novel. He had read something like ten novels in the span of my knowing him (which at this point was about a month). Not surprising, for a man who spent a majority of his time simply watching over me.   
        I was sitting on my bed, trying to read as well, but I could feel the fury swirling within me until it burst.  
        "I'm going for a walk," I snapped, standing and pushing myself off the bed, stomping out of the room.  
        I didn't see it, but Mich threw me a nervous look as I slammed the door shut.

        Cramming myself into my sweatshirt once again, I shoved my way out the front door and into the early spring sunshine, feeling the tightness in my chest almost immediately ease. I breathed in and out slowly, balling my hands into fists as I stomped down the sidewalk, my shoulders rigid. I was seeing red so vividly that I didn't even pay attention to where my feet were taking me until I found myself once again at the riverside where I had met Elliott. My hands were shaking with an uncontrollable anger that had risen from nowhere. Throwing my head back, I screamed at the sky, my frustration tearing out through my throat into a guttural roar that echoed across the river and down the line of trees in the woods across the water.  
        I screamed until my energy was spent, kneeling in the watery shore and burying my face in my hands.  
        "I feel so strangled," I murmured to myself, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "I just want some space."  
        That was part of what it was. Part of where my anger was coming from.  
        Since I had met Mich, it had been increasingly difficult to find moments to be by myself. Solitude, seclusion was something I needed, something I regularly craved. I wasn't an overly social person to start with, and when the presence of other people began to grow too stifling I would retreat to my room and be alone for a few days, relaxing and unwinding in my own solitary company and the beauty of silence.  
        And now, I was never alone. I could never steal away those moments of silence and solitude because he was always with me, always watching over me, like an overprotective parent.   
        And part of that was my fault, I knew. I knew I could have told him to go away for a few hours and leave me alone, but a part of me was also terrified that the moment he left I would be swamped with my negative feelings again.  
        The truth was, since I had met Mich, I had begun to feel happy again. I smiled, I even found myself singing sometimes. I was taking interest in the things I loved again, all things I hadn't done for months until he showed up. It was all because of him, I knew, him and his friends, and I was certain that if I allowed him to stray away from me for even a few hours, those somber, depressed feelings would creep back up out of the woodwork. And I never wanted to feel those ways again.  
        I didn't realize I was crying until I began to feel the hot tears leaking through my fingers. Once I realized it, though, the stitch in my chest, the dam broke and I was sobbing so hard I was choking, gagging around the suffocating notch in my throat. I cried so hard I felt as though I was going to throw up.   
        I didn't know. I didn't know what i wanted, if I wanted him to stay or go, leave me alone for awhile or never leave. I didn't know if I would be happy, if I ever could be truly happy, because I was scared of who I was going to become whether he stayed or left.   
        And the whole business with Elliott didn't help. I was so frustrated. Michelangelo was so frustrating, between never leaving me alone, never telling me anything about the things he was protecting me from so I could help protect myself, never telling me anything about himself.  
        I made a list of what I knew about him. He was my guardian angel, he was here to make me happy, and he was Michael's son. He had a sword named Heavensward. That was pretty much the inclusive list.  
        As I thought about how little I knew about the man who was supposed to be protecting me, my tears turned from dreary sadness to tears of fury, of rage. I slammed my fists in the dirt and growled, let out an angry squeal. My salty tears mingled with the melted snow in the dirt below me.  
        "My my, he has really upset you."  
        I recognized the calm, exotic voice, the smell of burning incense that wafted toward me. I kept my face downturned. I should have known he would show up here.  
        "Go away," I murmured, my hands shaking in the dirt below me, barely supporting my weight. I couldn't let him see me like this, especially since I still didn't entirely trust him yet. But my heart thudded in my chest as I imagined his sea-foam-green eyes searching my dejected form.  
        "I don't think you mean that."  
        "Go. Away." I dug my nails into the dirt, feeling it sliding underneath the nails and relishing the feeling of destroying something.  
        "Ah," he said lightly. "So that's it. He's told you not to trust me, is that it?" There was a soft sigh. "I should have expected as much." He was silent. I would have thought he had left, but I could still feel his presence.  
        There was a long silence, until I murmured to break it.  
        "Who are you, Elliott?" I shuddered as I choked out the question. "Who are you really? Why did Michelangelo tell me to stay away from you? Why doesn't he trust you? I want the truth from one of you angels, for once. Angels aren't ever supposed to lie, right? Then tell me the truth." I growled.  
        Elliott sighed. "If I told you who I was, prienta, princess," he said, pronouncing the word like "preen-ta." "You too would turn away from me. Everyone does, eventually."  
        I knelt in the dirt, trembling. I heard the soft crunch of grass as he approached me, and felt his warm breath as he leaned down to murmur in my ear.  
        "I can feel your warmth for me, prienta," he murmured. "I can feel that you are trying to understand, trying to accept me. And I thank you for that. But your guardian is right. I am dangerous. Even if I do not try to, I will hurt you. You should forget about me."  
        "But I can't-" I turned toward him, longing to see him.  
        He was gone.

        My mind was so muffled as I returned home, so lost in thought, that I didn't even register until I had my sweatshirt off that there was music coming from somewhere. The thin, soft noise of a violin was reverberating through my house.  
        Tilting my head, curious, I climbed the steps and went into my room to find Michelangelo, his eyes closed, carefully and elegantly poised, playing the string instrument. His eyes were closed with his concentration, his eyebrows furrowed, and he was swaying gently side to side.  
        I stood frozen, watching him, my heart thundering in my chest, my fists tight.  
        When he finally paused, he seemed to sense my presence. Lifting his head from the instrument and lowering it to his side, he looked at me, his expression unreadable.  
        "You lied to me, milady," he said, his voice dull. "I am disappointed in you."  
        I gritted my teeth. "I'm a 22-year-old girl, Michelangelo. I do what I want."  
        "Milady. As your guardian I forbid you to see him again."  
        My rage exploded, my eyes flashing as I strode toward him, fists tight. "YOU FORBID ME?" I snarled, my face inches from him, absolutely furious at his sudden calm. "YOU FORBID ME? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" I spat. "YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER, OR MY FAMILY, YOU ARE NOT EVEN MY FRIEND, YOU'RE MY FUCKING GUARDIAN ANGEL AND YOU'RE DOING A SHITTY JOB OF IT." I growled. "You're supposed to keep me happy, aren't you? Isn't that your fucking job? Well do I LOOK happy?" I threw my arms wide, begging the question.   
        He remained silent, as though content for me to finish before speaking.  
        "Listen, you fucking blonde jackass," I pointed at him, my voice cold. "I have enough fucking males in my life trying to control who I am and what I do. I have enough people trying to hide things from me, as though I'm some innocent little princess who needs protecting. I don't. I don't need protection, I don't need your pity, I DON'T NEED YOU."  
        "Milady-"  
        "GET OUT!" I screamed at him. "I'm sick of you acting all mysterious. You come into my life, expect me to tell you everything, expect me to let you in, let you be a part of my life, let you know who I am almost better than I know myself, all without telling me ANYTHING about yourself, by the way. And then you forbid me to see a guy without telling me WHY?" I wanted to screech at him. "I'm TIRED of you keeping things from me, Michelangelo, tired of being lied to, tired of people acting like I'm some weak little girl who needs the protection of others just to survive. GET. OUT."  
        I pointed at my door. He didn't move. We were silent.  
        "April-" His eyes were pleading but I didn't care. "April your soul, April please listen to me-"  
        "NO. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE. I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU OR ANY OF YOUR FUCKING FRIENDS EVER AGAIN."  
        "But-"  
        "NOW! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE."  
        And with a tremble and a flicker, my Guardian Angel winked out of existence.  
        The last thing I remembered was his stricken, worried face before he disappeared.


	9. Trials

        I strode through the darkened streets. The glowing screen of my phone told me it was nearly 11:00 p.m. I shoved it into my pocket, not caring how late it was.   
        I walked with purpose through the darkened streets of downtown, the ancient-appearing storefronts huddled together as though for warmth in a night tinged with a chill. A slight breeze stirred my coat as I leaned against the uneven bricks of an abandoned store. I cast my eyes up and down the one-way street, lit with a warm orange glow of the streetlights. There were a few clusters of cars parked around the bars several blocks away, but this block was deserted. I shied away from the streetlight nearest to me, preferring the cloak of shadow. I pressed a palm to the brick behind me, relishing the rough feeling. It matched my uneasy feelings the past few days.  
        My eyes caught a flicker of movement in the ally opening across the street. Cloudpiercer appeared at my waist as I reached toward it, but it was just a cat, a small white fluffy feline with a flicking tail. The cat gazed at me and then away, trotting down the sidewalk in the same direction I had just been heading.  
        I watched it putter away, then stood and continued walking, Cloudpiercer disappearing again. I shoved my hands in my pockets, breathing softly as the snuggled storefronts gave way to the housing neighborhood, lines of perfectly-trimmed bushes following me along the edge of the sidewalk.  
        I glanced across the street. The cat was still there. It was sitting on the edge of the curb, watching me, tail flicking. When I looked at it, it flicked its ear and sprang from the curb, heading right toward me.  
        I froze in place.  
        The cat had golden eyes.  
        "Go away, Gabriel," I snapped, turning and continuing to walk, but I could see him from the corner of my eye, trotting along behind me.  
        I'm not going to go away, a voice said in my mind and I jumped. I turned, looking around for the source of the sound, but there was only Gabriel in his cat form, sitting squat behind me and scratching his face with his paw. He gave his paw a tentative lick and looked at me, deep. As I watched, suddenly his eyes lit up and he shook his head vigorously.   
        I watched in surprise as a dapper black top hat winked into existence on his cat head, complete with tiny holes for his ears. He tilted his head and winked.  
        Like it? His voice said in my head. I call it 'Dapper Kitty.'  
        I gaped at him. I had kicked Michelangelo out and told him not to come back, and included his friends in that, and here one of them was trying to make me laugh?  
        I blanched. "What the hell-"  
        Gabriel stood and stretched, the hat still on his head. His voice in my head sighed.   
        Come with me, he said, turning tail and looking at me over his shoulder. We have a lot to discuss.

        I followed cat Gabriel (because what other choice did I have, I wasn't going anywhere anyway) to a small bench beside the sidewalk. During the daylight hours, this bench would be populated by weary mothers, exhausted from strolling with their children, or tired old men resting their feet. Now it, like the rest of the street, was deserted. I sat on the wooden seat and drew my arms around my knees. Gabriel leaped up beside me and I blinked. When I looked again, he was sitting there in his human form, the hat gone, a soft look on his face. He gently touched my hand.  
        "I'm sorry, for what Michelangelo did to you," he said gently.  
        I looked away and heard him sigh.   
        "I know what you want," he continued, looking back out at the street. "I know you want to turn away from all of this, to forget we ever existed and try to go back to your normal life, but I'm sorry April, you can't." I looked at him and he was gazing at me with such determination I had never expected from him. "Not anymore. Michelangelo might not have told you this, but things are changing for you. The Demons are aware of you now, and they're going to come after you. You've already been attacked by one, haven't you?"  
        I didn't have to answer. The look on my face spoke for itself. Gabriel nodded.  
        "That one came about just because it smelled Michelangelo, but it knows about you now. About both of you. You're in danger," Gabriel said, his voice almost pleading. "You need Michelangelo. Please call him back."  
        I glared at him. "There you go too. I'm so tired of that, people telling me I'm 'in danger' and not telling me what from. They don't tell me how to protect myself because I'm just some innocent, naive girl who needs to be protected. You're no better than Michelangelo." I balled my hands into fists, ready to stand up and stomp away, but the look on Gabriel's face stopped me.   
        "We're scared, April," he murmured, looking at me and biting his lip. "We're all scared for you. Michelangelo is the most afraid for you. I don't think he handled it well, but he cares about you."  
        "Then why won't he tell me anything about himself?" I snapped. "Why won't he tell me about the things that bother him, what he likes and dislikes, how he feels?" I threw my arms up, questioning him. "He never told me anything. He took and took information from me but he never gave any."

        Gabriel looked at me softly. "Have you stopped to consider that it might be because he cared far more about you than he cared about himself?"  
        I froze, my eyes wide. Gabriel nodded at my expression.   
        "I supposed as much," he said, adjusting his position on the bench and crossing his legs. "Michelangelo is a good man. He's kind, he's generous and caring, and sometimes that's to his disadvantage. He cares too much," he explained to my questioning look. "He gets too involved. And that can be his downfall."

~~~  
        "Angel Michelangelo," the deep voice boomed over the cavernous room. "You have been brought here on charges of Risk of Attachment to your stead."  
        Michelangelo, disheveled, head hanging tiredly, lifted his exhausted eyes from the glossy tabletop before him.   
He sat at a table upon a raised platform in the center of a round room. Rows of seats raised around him, upon which a small collection of official-looking angelic beings sat.  
        Before him, upon a large throne-like chair, sat a tough-looking blonde angel with striking blue eyes.  
        He was outfitted in bright gold and red armor, a massive dove embossed across his chest. Four pristine white wings spread from his back. He eyed Michelangelo with distaste and spoke again.  
        "How do you plead?"  
        Michelangelo lowered his head again, unable to meet his father's eyes.  
        "Guilty," he murmured to the table.

~~~  
        I strode with purpose through the darkened streets, back the way I had come. Gabriel darted behind me on his kitten paws, pleading with me.  
        Please don't go, April, he said hurriedly in my mind. It's too dangerous! You're going to get hurt!  
        I turned and glared at him. "Get lost, Gabriel. If none of you will tell me what's going on, I'm going to find out for myself." I turned and stomped down the dark alleyway.

        As the dark alley closed around me, I felt the air change a bit. It became a bit harder to breathe. Gabriel was gone from behind me. I leaned against the wall, pausing to catch my breath, and a familiar voice murmured out of the darkness.  
        "Perhaps I was mistaken when I considered you smart," it said bitterly. "Haven't you learned better than to go looking for the very one everyone is trying to protect you from?"  
        I gritted my teeth and ground my nails into my palms, narrowing my eyes as I lifted my head and looked around.  
        "Come out," I said forcefully. "I've come to get some answers."  
        Elliott appeared in the shadows, hood up so I could just barely make out his coffee-colored chin and slight smirk. His hands were in his sweatshirt pockets.  
        "You couldn't stop thinking about me, eh?" he said, his voice sultry in the night air. He chuckled, amused. "Interesting."  
        I gritted my teeth against my thundering heart and took a step toward him.   
        "I want answers," I snarled. "And I want them now. And since none of the others will tell me, I want to hear it from you. Why is everyone so afraid of you? What have you done? Why should I stay away from you?"  
        Elliott paused, and I saw his shoulders droop a bit as he sighed. "Prienta. Some stories are better left untold."  
        I shook my head before he had even finished his sentence. "Not gonna cut it this time, pretty boy," I snarled. "I'm sick of people hiding things from me to 'protect' me. I refused to accept it from Mich and I won't accept it from you either. Who the hell are you?"  
        He raised his head, and suddenly he was in sharp relief, his light blue-green eyes luminous in the dark, the black oily mark on his cheek shining in the streetlight. "You truly wish to know?"

        "Where are we, Elliott?"   
        I couldn't help but stand a bit closer to the angel as we stood outside the wicked-looking black mansion. I shivered. Something about the mansion spoke of malice and darkness, evil things lurking inside. I swore I saw shadows moving behind the windows.   
        "Come," he said. He was already halfway up the front walk toward the mansion, his shoes crackling on the gravel. I hurried to follow, watching the way the moonlight haloed off his ocean-blue hair.  
        He unlocked the door and we entered the massive foyer of the mansion.  
        It was all Gothic-style, with wicked-looking violet-and-black wallpaper, dark wooden floors and black-painted furniture. A long line of black wooden bookshelves stood sentinel along the walls, clustered with books, all bound in sheathes of midnight. A massive chandelier with tiny crystals hanging from it reached down from the ceiling.  
        "Elliott?" I said, my voice tiny in the silence. "Wh-Where are we?"  
        Elliott paused across the room and turned to me, gazing intensely in my face as though he were trying hard not to look at our surroundings. "This is my childhood home," he said softly, running his hand thoughtfully across the arm of a chair. "I-I grew up here."  
        I looked at him, suddenly filled with the desire to run to him and wrap my arms around him. Something about him had changed when we entered the home, as though he had become smaller, sadder. He seemed so unsure of himself, like a small child.  
        "What does this have to do with-"  
        "Let me explain. Have a seat," he gestured to one of the upholstered chairs and I sat as he fidgeted before me, gazing around the room with his luminous eyes. Finally, his eyes landed back on me and he took a deep breath.  
        "A very long time ago, the archangel Michael, Michelangelo's father, had a best friend," he began, intense. "Another angel. The two were very close, they agreed on nearly everything. Nearly everything, that is, except for the matter of human beings."  
        He paced in front of me.  
        "Michael, a thoroughly good man through and through, and an optimist, believed humans to be inherently good-hearted creatures. He believed that given the choice, humans would always do the right thing, the noble thing. But this other angel, he believed differently." His mouth was set in a thin, stressed line. "He believed the opposite of humans. He believed humans to be inherently evil creatures, filthy beings. So one day, this other angel got an idea, which he took to Michael."  
        He paused in his pacing and looked at me. I had my hands folded, watching him, enthralled in the story. A kernel of an idea of where this was going had formed in my mind, but I refused to acknowledge it.  
        "This angel's idea," he continued slowly, as though trying to gauge my reaction. "was to cleanse the human race. He wanted to destroy most humans, especially the thoroughly evil ones, the murderers, the thieves, anyone of that class." He took a deep breath. "He wanted to rid the world of their blight and hold on to just a few good humans. He believed it would wash the world of sin and hatred and form a truly perfect humanity."  
        "Michael didn't like that," I said. Elliott shook his head, resuming his pacing.  
        "Not in the slightest. He refused to allow such 'meaningless slaughter,' as he called it, saying it wasn't the angels' job to decide who lives or dies in the world, and that he believed all humans are worthy of saving. Embarrassed, shamed, the other angel fled. Fled from the only friend he had ever trusted to understand him."  
        Elliott folded his hands and gazed at me, suddenly calm.  
        "That angel's name was Lucifer."  
        I felt my jaw tighten, my grip on the arms of the chair turn so tight my knuckles turned white. My face must have whitened because Elliott swallowed roughly.  
        "My father."  
        He looked at me, and my heart thudded in my chest, so hard it physically hurt. My head spun.  
        "B-But," he said quickly, as though sensing my reaction, moving toward me, the earrings in his ear shifting with his movement. He touched my hand and I recoiled out of sheer reaction, instantly regretting my choice at the look on his face.         He looked broken, hurt. "But I'm not a bad person, April, I'm not evil." He seemed to be pleading with me now, his eyes wide. "Remember those feelings you felt when we first met? How you wanted to give me a chance?" I could see his hands shaking. "N-No one's ever felt those feelings when they've looked at me before." He pressed his hands together and closed his eyes as though he was in immense pain. "Th-They see me, see how shady I am, they see my mark and they know who I am, who my father is, and they shun me." He pressed his shaking hands to his cheeks.   
        I looked at him, feeling my heartbeat slowing as I read the pain etched in every line of his body.   
        My brain screamed at me that it was a trick, surely a trick, he was Lucifer's son. How could he be anything but evil?   
        But I couldn't consolidate the shuddering, trembling boy before me, prostrating himself, with someone who was evil.  
        My mind screamed that I was being foolish, that this was how people became possessed in films, in books, but at the same time I wanted to believe him.  
        "I-If you don't believe me," Elliott said slowly, raising his head to gaze at me. "W-Will you listen to my beliefs? M-Maybe th-they will convince you."  
        I said nothing, but I sank back into my chair. He took that as his chance to explain and he sat back, his eyes still on me. I kept a careful distance from him.  
        "I believe that humans are both good and evil," he said, still shaking a bit. "I b-believe that everyone has a little bit of both inside of them, it's just how we act on those things that defines who we are." He looked at me. "I-I have never hurt anyone, April. Not even a Demon. I don't fight. I can't." A holster appeared around his waist and he drew a midnight-black and crimson pistol from it. I flinched away, reaching for Cloudpiercer, but he was offering the pistol to me butt-first.   
"Never fired," he said, showing me the Divine Weapon. "Not once." He returned it to his holster and placed his hands on his knees. "A-And I also believe in Demons. Th-They're angels, right? Or they were, once. I don't understand why they have to be killed." His eyebrows came together in thought. "I think they can be saved. I think the souls inside of them can still be touched and they can be reminded of the good they once were." He looked up at me. "The other angels don't believe that. They think Demons are dirty creatures who should be killed on sight. Tell me, April, which of us is evil?"  
        I stood over him, flexing my fists. Then slowly, slowly, I lowered myself to kneel beside him. He collapsed onto me as I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. He smelled exotic, foreign, like spices and incense. His arms came around my back and he thudded his head onto my shoulder, exhausted.   
        "I need someone to believe in me," he murmured into my ear. "I need someone to believe me."  
        "I believe you," I murmured back, and I meant it. "I believe in you."

~~~  
        Michelangelo opened his eyes, finally conscious once again of the trial happening around him. Had he fallen asleep again?   
        It didn't matter. There were echoes and murmurs all around him, the jury of angels discussing his trial, discussing his terms and his sentence. Some of them were on his side, others were not.  
        Michelangelo didn't care. He was exhausted.  
        Suddenly, his stomach twisted. He felt nauseous. Making a face, he wondered if he had eaten something wrong today...  
        Then his eyes widened. This was much more serious.   
        April was in danger.


	10. Black & White

        "We should go," Elliott murmured into my shoulder, squeezing my sides a bit.  
        We had knelt beside each other for what felt like hours but was probably more like fifteen minutes, just focusing on one another's heartbeats. I had started crying at some point, tears that Elliott gently wiped away, kissing my cheek.  
        "I don't know if I can stand."  
        "I'll help you," he said, rising to his feet and gently taking my hand, guiding me up. I rested a hand on his shoulder, my trembling legs uneasy, until I regained my footing and we both headed for the door...  
        Which slammed shut.  
        And locked.  
        Elliott slammed into it, eyes wide, thrusting his shoulder against it.  
        "No, no no, dammit!" he hissed.  
        "Elliott?" I blinked, taking a step back from him in horror. "What's going-"  
        "April," he said, turning toward me, suddenly extremely worried. "I need you to remember that whatever happens in the next few minutes, whatever happens to you, I don't mean it, okay? Nothing that you see, or hear, or anything, I didn't want any of it to happen-"  
        The lights went out.  
        I shrieked.  
        Suddenly, a smooth voice echoed through the room.  
        "You actually thought you could get through to him?" the voice was extremely deep and sultry. "Knowing full well who he is, who his father is, you still tried anyway."  
        "Elliott, what's going-"  
        "SILENCE!" the voice shouted so loudly that the room shook around me. "YOU WILL LISTEN WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU, MORTAL!"  
        I squeaked into silence.  
        "He even explained to you, in plain terms, the story of his father," the voice continued, as though the interruption had never happened. "He blatantly explained why you should not trust him and yet you do. No matter how you try, you cannot keep from trusting him. Because your heart is weak. You have always been weak."  
        I raised a trembling hand to my chest. "That's not-"  
        "SILENCE!" the voice rumbled again. "YOU ARE NOTHING! HUMAN BEINGS ARE NOTHING! And you are no different, are you? Sniveling dirt creature that you are. You go through life pretending to be kind, to love all those around you, but you really despise everyone, don't you. You despise the world for what it's done to you, how it's broken you. YOU ARE A LIAR!"  
        The voice's rumble made me jump in the darkness. I could feel tears trekking down my cheeks and I reached out in the darkness for Elliott, wanting to hold him so badly my heart was aching-  
        A light switched on in the center of the room, only we weren't inside the mansion anymore.  
        It was an entirely bare room, so large the spotlight just barely illuminated the furthest reaches. But I didn't notice any of this.  
        The spotlight illuminated a form in a rickety wooden chair. The figure was bare naked, bandages standing in for her clothes. They wrapped around her chest, her waist, her legs, her arms. There was a massive one around her head.   
        I took a horrified step toward her and saw shackles around her wrists and arms. Her ankles were bound to the bottom of the chair, her wrists to the arms of it. Any slight movement of her body caused a soft clinking sound to echo through the hollow space.  
        But her skin. Her skin was the worst.  
        It was covered in scars and freshly opened wounds. Bruises marked any of her unopened skin, painting her bright purple and black. There were marks of a struggle around the shackles on her wrists, sure signs she had once been strong and full of life, struggling against her bonds. But that image clashed with the broken, defeated girl before me now.  
        Grotesquely fascinated, I approached her, all else forgotten. My heart was beating a mile a minute.  
        Upon closer inspection, her condition became even uglier. Her open wounds were infected, oozing white and sickly yellow liquids. She was stick-thin, malnourished. She was like a zombie, truly an example of the living dead.  
        I reached out a trembling fingertip and touched her chin. Even the small contact left me feeling ice-cold, her skin freezing to the touch. I gently tilted her face up. Her head lolled backward, the true picture of a girl who had completely given up. My eyes widened in horror.  
        Her entire face was wrapped in bandages, but it was the word burned across them that horrified me.  
        A S S H O L E was inscribed in thin burning letters across her facial bandages, with tiny spots of blood where they had been burnt in.  
        When I saw that word, something inside me broke. I threw my head back and screeched, screamed like I had never screamed before. I felt my throat tearing to shreds, ripping apart. I felt a jolt as I fell to my knees and the pain knocked tears into my eyes. I balled my hands into fists and screamed again, pounding the ground, bringing blood to my knuckles that poured down my hands but I didn't care.   
        "April!"  
        A voice shrieked behind me but I didn't care. I continued screaming, digging my blood-covered nails into the ground. My world ripped apart and suddenly I was outside in open air, the stale air of the mansion gone, but the image of the girl burned into my brain, onto the back of my eyelids. She was everywhere, but the word was everywhere too. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing it branded onto the back of my eyelids. I shrieked again.  
        "April! You need to stop this!"  
        I shook my head and leaned forward, burying my face into the ground, wanting to die, wanting the suffering to end, it felt as though a thousand pins and needles were piercing through my chest, plunging themselves into my heart. I lost the will and ability to scream as my voice gave out and I uttered breathy gasps as I attempted to shriek again.

~~~  
        Michelangelo stood abruptly as piercing pains, as though he were having a heart attack, rocked his chest.  
        "I apologize," he said to the room, aiming the statement primarily at his father. "But I must leave."  
        "You cannot leave," a dark-haired angel to the side stammered angrily, his face red. "You are a danger to us all! Your attachment to your stead is going to turn you into a Demon and I will not STAND for it!"  
        Michelangelo glanced at the man and growled.  
        "I will not sit here and listen to you all argue about my attachment to my stead while she's down there in danger. Good day," Michelangelo turned from the room and burst through the doors.  
        He felt his heart thudding as a few handfuls of his long, luxurious golden hair began falling away from his scalp like rain.

        The mansion was within his eyesight when Michelangelo couldn't stand the pain anymore. He fell to his knees on the gravel on the front drive, clutching his chest. He gritted his teeth.   
        I know what this is, he growled to himself, lifting his eyes toward the mansion and beginning to crawl on his hands and knees, digging his nails into the gravel to propel himself forward, despite the pain clutching every single one of his nerves, red and hot. I need to get to her!  
        The front door of the mansion burst open and a blue-haired angel in a navy blue hoodie rolled out of the home, clutching a bleeding, shrieking brunette in his arms. Elliott caught sight of Michelangelo and his eyes pleaded for help, but the blonde angel collapsed on the gravel, the small stones digging into his soft cheeks. He drifted out of consciousness, finally succumbing to the pain.  
        Maybe things will be better for us this way.

~~~

        "April! He's changing, dammit!"  
        I finally snapped to, hearing Elliott's voice. My bleary eyes turned toward him, my head lopsided, everything out of focus.   
        The first thing I registered was that Elliott had his pistol out and aimed at something, holding the weapon expertly. The next thing I registered was an ear-splitting shriek.   
        I lifted my hands to my ears and turned weakly toward the source of the noise, feeling my entire chest snap.  
        Michelangelo was rising to his feet, but it wasn't the Mich I recognized anymore.  
        Tendrils of black, little wisps of black shadow were rising around his form as he stood. His hair was short and dark brown, and his eyes were fiery red. A black oily substance was rising around his feet, eclipsing his bright butler's outfit, swallowing his bright appearance.  
        He lifted his head to grin maniacally at me, his mouth full of shining black teeth. I shrunk away in horror, my muscles objecting, pain shooting through my nerves.  
        "M-Mich?" I murmured, my voice shaking.  
        The creature that was once my guardian angel threw back its head and shrieked with glee, cackling, the oily black substance swallowing him entirely. A massive orb of oily energy throbbed on the mansion's front lawn.  
        Suddenly, the oil began forming into a shape.   
        Two massive black-feathered wings snapped out of the orb, throwing tiny beads of black energy everywhere. A head ballooned out of the front, a shining black beak erupting from the front and four shining white eyes opening as little slits in the head.  
        Two rickety black feet slammed onto the ground, with shining black talons. An oily black tail fanned from the back.  
        "Dammit! It's a Demon! April get back!" Elliott leaped in front of me, a few shots rang out. Tiny sprays of oily energy erupted off the Dove Demon's body, and it cawed in anger and lowered its head toward Elliott. Eyes flashing red, it leaped toward the blue-haired angel, lashing out with its talons.  
        With a grunt, Elliott fell back, a thick gash in his arm.   
        I raised myself to my shaking knees, reaching for Cloudpiercer-  
        "No!" Elliott shouted at me, eyes shining. "Get yourself to safety! Get away from here! I'll take care of- oof!" He leaped back as the Dove Demon flapped its wings and rose into the air, buffering him back. The Demon landed near me and dug its talons into the ground.  
        It lowered its bulbous, ugly head to eye me. Then its eyes flashed red and it darted its head back to slice me with its beak-  
        A form dashed in front of me, taking the savage peck right to the shoulder.  
        "Elliott!" I shrieked, watching the blue-haired angel roll aside, his pistol clacking across the gravel out of his palm.  
        "G-Get out of here," he pushed himself to kneel on his shaking arms, reaching for the pistol again-  
        I rose on my legs, suddenly full of energy, and grabbed his pistol. Aiming at the Demon, I let loose a few shots before a thought hit me.  
        That's Michelangelo in there.  
        Suddenly, I found I couldn't shoot. I tossed the pistol at Elliott and reached for Cloudpiercer, but I was too slow. There was a howling screech and I felt a force like a punch stab into my gut. I was knocked backward onto my tailbone with a sickening thud and a tight piercing weight landed on my chest.  
        I looked up into the bright white eyes of the Demon, which was purring hungrily as it looked me up and down. It had its talon on my chest, and it tightened its grip. I writhed uncomfortably as its talons dug into my flesh, leaving deep red gashes. I groaned.  
        "Elliott!" I shrieked.  
        "GET OFF OF HER, YOU BASTARD!" There were a few echoing bangs as Elliott unleashed a flurry of bullets into the creature's side, finally throwing his entire weight into the beast. The Dove Demon batted him away with a wing and turned to attack him again-  
        As the weight of its talon disappeared from my chest, I had a flash of a thought.  
        Demons can be saved. After all, it's an angel in there, isn't it?  
        I didn't even give myself time to consider the consequences of the actions I was about to perform. I snapped into action.   
        Rising from my position, I flung myself forward and wrapped my arms around the bird's slick black body. It writhed and lashed out with its beak, and I grunted as it smashed into my back, but I didn't move. I hugged the bird's neck tightly, as though I were trying to break its neck. I pressed my face into its feathers.  
        Come on, come on, I urged.  
        There was a sickening rip and the worst burning pain I had ever felt as the Demon's talons shredded the front of my shirt, leaving a deep wound in my stomach, but still I held on, as the warm blood began to flow from the wound and down my hips. I felt hot tears leaking down my cheeks.  
        Michelangelo, I pleaded. I know you're in there.  
        To my amazement, as the thrashing bird's body continued to batter my own, I felt myself sink into its oily feathers, its dark energy seeping me inside of it.  
        "April!"I heard Elliott cry as I sank into the bird's body, but there was no time to explain to him.  
        Everything around me was slick silence as I sank through the Demon's body. It was like swimming in syrup, sounds oddly muffled but the strange sensation of passing through thick liquid.   
        Then, my fingers found something in the oily blackness.  
        Soft, it gave way beneath my touch and seemed to shrink away from me, but I kept after it. I grabbed a handful of it.  
        Fabric.  
        I pulled. I pulled with all the strength remaining in my burning, exhausted muscles. Slowly, a form rose out of the oily blackness and I closed my arms around his shoulders. I mumbled his name, my mouth filling with the disgusting oily liquid of the Demon.  
        With my arms around his shoulders, I pulled backward. I could feel a force driving him back, trying to pull him from my grip, but there was no negotiating. I was taking him back.  
        I felt my foot sink to the ground and I stumbled backward.   
        In front of me, Michelangelo slid from the oily energy of the Demon with a sickening suck sound like suction, and as he was released I fell backward onto the ground. I couldn't get up, I physically lacked the energy to move. Michelangelo fell on top of me and rolled to the side, face facing mine. I turned my head to look at him.  
        We were both a sight, covered in the greasy black substance of the Demon, which was frozen above us. I softened as I examined his troubled, filthy face.   
        I blinked a little as his eyes slid open and he gazed at me for a long time.  
        "I-Isn't-" I coughed a bit, spitting the greasy substance out of my mouth. "Isn't it supposed to be your job to save me?"  
        And then everything went black.


	11. Blessed

        The air around me was gold. Shafts of white light shimmered around me, sparkling in sunlight without a source.   
        I sat tranquil, my legs folded, wearing a clean white dress, my wounds completely disappeared, as though I had never had them to start with. I gazed around softly.  
        "Your relationship with my son is truly an enigma," a soft voice said.   
        It would have startled me with the suddenness of its appearance had this been Earth, but as it was, I merely turned my head to see the tall, imposing figure standing before me.  
        I didn't have to ask his name. He had the same glistening golden locks, the same pure, clean blue eyes.   
        "Michael," I said gently. He inclined his head as if to nod.  
        He was dressed in gilded golden robes with touches of white satin, his rugged blonde hair falling around his face. He peered down at me as though I were a particularly interesting piece of art.  
        "You saved him," he said.  
        I nodded.  
        "I suppose I should thank you," he said, his deep voice low as he sighed. "He is my only son, and to lose him to the Dark..." He closed his eyes and for a moment I could see his age, how the stress of caring for the human race had worn on him, but then his eyes opened and the strength returned. "I must also express my surprise. Never before has a human managed to rescue an angel from the Dark. You must really care for him."  
        He chuckled softly. "I suppose that is why he has Blessed you without knowing."  
        I blinked and tilted my head.  
        "I sense your confusion," he said, and he sat across from me, gently pressing his hands together. Let me explain. You are aware that when an angel makes a human truly happy, truly happy, they receive their wings." I nodded. "Good. But there is a special gift an angel can give to a human they particularly care for. They can make the human a Blessed."  
        "A Blessed is a human with particular strengths. An angel guarding the human recognizes these strengths and becomes attached to the human. Their attachment to the human strengthens the human. They become stronger, more confident. They obtain special abilities. They live longer." Michael folded his hands and saddened a bit. "There are drawbacks, of course. A Blessed is neither human, nor angel. They exist as a sort of half-breed, fitting in neither here nor there. However," he softened again. "They have the bond with their guardian. They are never truly alone."  
        Michael gazed at me softly. "You are the first one my son has ever Blessed, and he has done it without knowing he has. But he will know, soon. You both will be strongly linked, forevermore, after the events of today." He pressed a hand to my forehead and chuckled. "So his mark is a mourning dove. He always did have a flair for the dramatic, my son."  
        I looked down to see the perfect image of a mourning dove embossed over my heart. It was sparkling silver. I looked back at Michael, who was slowly backing away from me and smiling gently.   
        "I must leave you now, April of Minnesota," he said softly. "Take care of my son, won't you? He does tend to become a bit...unruly, at times."  
        And he was gone.

~~~

        "Woah! Holy shit!"   
        Gideon, standing on the edge of the hospital roof, looked around, jolting in surprise.  
        "Where the fuck did all the birds come from?"  
        Mourning doves. Thousands of them. They had flocked to the hospital and filled every available flat place on which to perch, fluttering to the rooftop, the gutters, the roofs of the automobiles in the parking lot. They covered the ground, their tiny beady eyes flicking every which way, their little feet kicking small pebbles across the ground, their wings fluttering endlessly. Their mournful cooing filled the late evening air like a lullaby.   
        Their soft, cream-colored bodies created a confusing blanket of murmuring feathers over the scene.   
        Gabriel sat on the edge of the roof, his legs hanging over the edge. He licked his lips as he eyed the birds. But Michelangelo wouldn't allow him to transform into his cat form and chase them.  
        "They're here for her," Mich said, standing boldly on the edge of the roof and gazing down at the birds. His eyes were cold and worried, his hands tightening their grips into fists.   
        "For April?" Gabriel said, tilting his head up to gaze at Mich, who nodded. "Why?"  
        Michelangelo didn't answer, but he knew why.   
        I've Blessed her, he thought. She's a Blessed.  
        She didn't even have a choice. She's forced to live like us now.  
        He gritted his teeth and stepped from the roof. Her room was on the fifth floor. His eyes found the window easily as he swung through it.  
        As if they had been awaiting his action, the mourning doves spread their wings in unison and lifted from their perches. With a fluttering sound reminiscent of a rainstorm, they rose into the air. Time seemed to slow down around the other two angels, the sunset gleaming off the wings of the birds mid-flight. Rainbows arced through the air.

~~~  
        "I'm going to kill him."  
        "No, you're not."  
        "I'm going to draw Heavensward so far up his anus that the tip will come out his throat."  
        "No, you're not."  
        "Let me help! I'll take his pistol so he can't fight you."  
        "Gideon, you're not helping."  
        I vaguely made out Michelangelo's, Gabriel's and Gideon's voices as I hovered somewhere between waking and unconsciousness. My body felt numb and achy. Everything hurt, even the very act of breathing hurt. I slid open an eyelid.  
        Michelangelo was standing beside the window, hands balled into fists. There was something off about his appearance, though I couldn't place what. Gabriel was sitting beside my bed, gently stroking my hand, eyes shining with tears. Gideon leaned against the wall.  
        "Mich," I mumbled, my voice harsh and broken, and all three angels jumped.   
        Mich turned his beautiful face toward me, concerned, as though he were building up for whatever I was about to say-  
        "Your hair," I murmured.  
        He froze.  
        His beautiful long golden locks were gone. Instead, he had a short, choppy blonde haircut, with rough edges. He looked down at the ground.  
        "What happened?"  
        "Milady! You're awake!" Gabriel transformed into his cat form with a blink of an eye and padded up to my face, pressing his cheek to mine and purring.  
        I was so worried! his voice continued in my head. I weakly reached up to pat his head.  
        "Oi, we're glad to see you, milady," Gideon said from across the room with a wink.  
        My eyes crossed to Mich again, who was still standing beside the window as though avoiding coming nearer to me. He looked haggard, his skin pale, shoulders drooped as though he was exhausted.   
        "Michelangelo," I said softly. "Come here. Please."  
        He softened, warmth filling his eyes, and he crossed the room to me, gently touching my hand timidly. "Milady..."  
        I tugged his arm and he leaned down with a smile to hug me gently.   
        "I was so worried about you," he murmured in my ear, holding me a bit tighter.  
        I pressed my face into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar vanilla-tinted scent. "I was worried about you too. But seriously, what happened to your hair?"  
        He leaned back and chuckled. "First sign of turning into a Demon, milady. The angel's hair shortens and darkens. Luckily I was not a Demon very long, so the color did not remain permanently. I do hope it grows back, though, this short hair is unsightly."  
        He made a face and I chuckled.  
        Suddenly, the door opened with a quiet click.  
        Michelangelo stiffened and stood up, glaring.  
        "Come to finish the job?" He gritted his teeth and stepped in front of my bed.  
        I peered around him to see Elliott enter.   
        The coffee-skinned angel lifted his chin and eyed Michelangelo carefully, then he caught sight of me and his shoulders lowered. His face saddened.  
        Are you alright, prienta?"  
        Michelangelo narrowed his eyes and stepped toward him forcefully. "Get out of here," he growled, Heavensward winking into existence around his waist. "Or I'll make you leave."  
        Elliott made no move to defend himself. He sighed.  
        "Mich," I said, my eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "Leave him alone."  
        "Milady," Mich spat over his shoulder. "With all due respect, you do not know-"  
        "Yes, I do," I said forcefully. "I know everything, Mich. I know who his father is, I know what happened between your two fathers, I know about the bad blood between you. But let me tell you something, Michelangelo." I sat up a bit, making a face at the numbness that shot through me as I did so. "He was the one who gave me the idea to save you."  
        There was a frigid silence in the room.  
        "What?" Mich stammered, turning toward me. Elliott's eyes flicked toward me and met my own eyes. "What do you mean?"  
        I narrowed my eyes.  
        "You haven't even given him the chance to explain himself," I snapped. "You haven't ever even listened to him. He's amazing, Mich, he's so smart and he has such great ideas. He was the one who inspired me to save you. H-He told me that he believes Demons can be saved, that we shouldn't just outright kill them, that there is still an angel somewhere inside of them that can be rescued. That's what I thought of in the instant I saved you. His beliefs, his words. Without him, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be dead." I glared at him.  
        Mich gazed between me and Elliott as though asking if it were true. Elliott inclined his head and eyed Michelangelo carefully, as though they were two dogs about to pounce on one another.  
        "I swear to god if you two don't make friends I will pull the stitches out of my wounds," I snapped, hovering my hand over the wound in my stomach. They both looked at me. "I'll do it! I'm crazy enough to do it!"  
        The two angels glared at each other for a moment, then reached out for a stiff handshake that appeared as though they were trying to break one another's fingers. They released quickly. I flopped back onto my pillows and sighed. Gabriel chuckled.  
        "That feeling when your boyfriend and your guardian angel don't get along," he snorted.  
        I groaned. "Tell me about it."

        "So...what happens now?" I asked a little while later, wiggling my toes under the sheets. Michelangelo was sitting beside my bed, in the chair Gabriel had vacated. Gabriel himself was curled in cat-form beside me 'for warmth,' a position that made both Michelangelo and Elliott narrow their eyes at him. Elliott was seated beside my bed on the opposite side from Mich, tentatively stroking my hair with a warm hand. "Like, I'm Blessed. What do I do with that?"  
        For the fourth time, Michelangelo reached up to gently tug down the neck of my hospital gown. The first time he had done it, I had smacked his hand so hard it had left a red mark, but he was only seeking to see the shining silver mourning dove mark on my chest. He peered at it again now, as though not quite believing it existed.  
        "You're basically one of us now!" Gabriel said with a grin.  
        I shook my head. "Michael said I'm not an angel. But I'm not human either. He...He implied I was going to feel lonely, but I don't. I don't feel lonely at all." I looked around at the guys crowded around my bed and smiled a bit. "Michael was wrong. He was really wrong. I'm not lonely in the slightest. I have all of you, not to mention my human friends. I may not be entirely human, nor entirely angel, but I don't think it's a matter of I don't fit in with either of you. I think it's a matter of I fit in with BOTH of you."  
        Michelangelo smiled softly and pressed a hand to my cheek. "You're getting it, milady. Are you happy?"  
        I nodded at him, my eyes warm, the mark over my heart warm as I gazed at him. "I am. I am happy."


	12. Finale

        The church was silent.  
        I folded my hands on my lap and tucked my feet under the bench, feeling as though there were dozens of pairs of eyes upon me, even though the building was empty.  
        I wasn't certain what had compelled me here. I was out of place, in close-fitting comfortable yoga pants and a simple graphic T-shirt proclaiming the name of a swimming anime, but as I had passed the doors on my morning walk, something had compelled me through the doors.  
        Perhaps it was the promised tranquility. Perhaps it was the intricately beautiful designs of the stained glass windows over the doors, or the way the heavy wooden doors, stood open to allow in the fresh early spring breeze, seemed like a welcoming hug. Or perhaps it was a feeling of safety.  
        Whatever the cause, I had shuffled down the carpeted center aisle, examining the wear on the carpet and averting my eyes carefully from the religious regalia around the walls. My first instinct was to take a seat at the front, but after some consideration I shuffled into a more timid spot in the center of the room. I folded my arms and finally lifted my gaze.  
        The front of the church was elegantly decorated for the coming Easter season. A clean white sheet was draped across the shining wooden cross at the head of the room. Flowers, primarily Easter lilies, flourished in multicolored pots at the foot of the massive white marble altar.   
        Overhead, the ceiling lifted into a massive round opening, as though the entire room were reaching toward the clouds. At the very top of the round protrusion, the ceiling gave way to a massive skylight, through which spring sunlight streamed like golden rain.  
        The walls of the round protrusion were painted with some of the most beautiful art I had ever seen. Small, pudgy baby angels with rosy cheeks and plump bellies played trumpets. Apostles, cloaked in shining robes of vivid colors, stood sentinel, holding books, incense burners, and instruments. The folds of their robes were painted in scarlet, golden, violet, sapphires, emerald shades of green. The instruments were touched with glittering gold, so realistic I felt as though I could close my eyes and hear their music. My eyes flicked to the very back wall, where a single portrait took up most of the painting.  
        It was Christ himself, in a simple white robe with a reddish cloak around his shoulders. I looked at his face, which promised safety, acceptance, and emanated warmth.  
        I sighed and looked down, fidgeting with my fingers.  
        "Well, this is certainly not where I would have expected to find you," came a soft voice from behind me, a voice I knew almost as well as my own by now.  
        I hugged my stomach and didn't look up or say anything.  
        "Would you like to tell me what compelled you to come here?" Michelangelo said softly. From the position of his voice I could tell he was close, likely sitting in the bench behind me.  
        I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came but a raspy whisper. I cleared my throat and started again.  
        "I don't know," I said simply. "I just kind of...walked in."  
        The silence hung between us again. A comfortable silence. I sat up again, still hugging myself, avoiding the eyes of the painting on the wall and instead searching the walls to my right and left. They were adorned with stained glass windows depicting scenes from Christ's life. His birth, some of his miracles, the storm on the lake, his death. I wondered fleetingly who had created the windows and if they could make something for my own house when I grew older.  
        "Tell me, milady," Michelangelo said softly, and I finally turned to gaze at him.  
        He was eyeing me warmly, his eyes so clear and bright they appeared like small crystalline pools. His hand was rested on his chin, his golden hair (which had grown a bit since being sheared) tied back in a small, tight ponytail. "What do you believe in?"  
        I paused, my fingers tightening on the back of the bench until my knuckles were white. My hands were shaking and Michelangelo could tell. I could see concern flicker in his eyes, but he said nothing, compelling me to respond.  
        "I-I don't know, Mich," I said, turning back toward the front of the church and pressing my palms to the seat of the bench. "I don't know what I believe in. I don't believe in anything."  
        "May I ask why?"  
        I bit my lip and straightened. "I don't know what's out there," I said strongly, eyes facing forward. "Or if there's anything out there at all. Maybe it's God, maybe it's the Shinto deities, maybe it's the Greek gods, or maybe..." I softened. "Maybe there's nothing out there. But Mich," I turned toward him again, my eyes determined. "To me, it doesn't matter what's out there, who's out there, because whoever is out there isn't what makes me a good person. I'm going to be a good person because I want to be a good person, because I genuinely want to help others and make them smile and help them live their lives." I felt tears, hot at the edges of my eyes, not from sadness but from fierce determination. "I don't want to be a good person just because someone else tells me I have to be. I'm going to live my life and be good and be kind and be positive. I want to live my life in a way that whoever, whatever is out there is proud of me, no matter who they are. And if there's nobody, or nothing out there? Then I can say I was good because of myself."  
        I sat back down in the bench and cried quietly into the silence. There was a soft creak and a wafting scent of vanilla, and a warm figure appeared beside me. I leaned into Mich's side as he wrapped an arm around me and held me close, pressing my head to his chest, right over his heart. I trembled as he held me, pressing his face into my hair and rocking me softly.  
        "It's okay, April," Michelangelo murmured into my hair after awhile. "You don't have to believe."  
        "Yeah!" Another voice said, bubbly, and I turned my head to see snowy-haired Gabriel appear at the other end of the bench, a top hat on his head and a grin on his face. "I mean, after all, wouldn't it be boring if everyone believed the same thing? People need different beliefs and different views and values, and opinions, that's what makes the world interesting!" He grinned.  
        "Besides," a more sultry voice said as Gideon appeared in a bench to my right and in the front row of the benches. "It seems to me that even if you did believe, you should do it because you actually believe, not because someone else tells you that you should. Your beliefs are yours and yours alone."  
        More hot tears rolled down my cheeks as my angelic friends appeared. Gabriel beamed at me, eyes flickering golden-pink, and Gideon gave me his small half-smile, complete with a wink.  
        With the smell of burning incense, a familiar hooded figure appeared beside me on the bench. Elliott leaned over and gently kissed my temple, twining his arm with mine.  
        "I don't think it's entirely correct to say you don't believe in anything, prienta," he said, his exotic accent rolling the r's. "After all. You believed in me, yes? And look what you've done to me." He smiled, his bright teeth flashing. "I can't imagine life without you."  
        I let his words fade away into silence, reaching for his hand. Pressed into Michelangelo with one hand and tracing Elliott's fingers with the other, I closed my eyes and rested my head on Mich's shoulder, slowly feeling my heartbeat slow and the trembling in my limbs calm.  
        "There were many things that went through my mind when I was a Demon, milady," Michelangelo said into the silence.  
        I felt my muscles tense and my eyes flashed open. I lifted my head and looked up at Mich, eyebrows together. He had never talked about his time as a Demon and I had never pressed him. I imagined he had felt so much pain, and for the instants where I was holding him inside the Dove Demon's body, I had felt his pain, a searing hot burning sensation.  
        "My mind was so dark, so full of troubles," he said, gazing up toward the front of the church, his eyes dark and clouded. He turned to gaze at me and I softened beneath his gaze, resting my head against his shoulder.  
        "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Mich," I said, mumbling into his shoulder. "I know you were in so much pain."  
        "I was, milady. That is why I want to talk about it. For how can I encourage you to discuss your own pains with me if I am not willing to share mine with you?"  
        I shifted against him and nodded.  
        "I have been...standing in my own father's shadow for a very long time," Mich said, squeezing my hand softly. "It is not easy, being the son of an archangel. People expect things of me, great things. I'm expected to help every human I'm assigned to. I'm expected to earn my wings quickly, I'm expected to govern, to lead, to bear so many responsibilities." His voice trembled and I held him tighter. "And I want to meet those expectations. I want to bear my burdens, help those in need, prove I am a man worthy of being my father's son." He pressed against me and his voice trembled again. "But that is not nearly as easy as it may sound. I have failed. Quite a lot. My father has stood beside me every time I have failed to make a stead happy, but I can see his disappointment in his eyes every time he looks at me." He pressed his face into my hair again and I felt hot tears trickle down my scalp. "I know you understand that feeling, milady. You understand me. You understand how it feels, to feel as though you've let down your own parents."  
        "And those doubts...those were the first things the Demon picked up on. When I first had the terrible feeling that you were in pain, the Demon stirred within me and I began to hear whispering doubts. 'You'll never be as good as your father,' they said to me. 'You're a disappointment, a failure.' 'You should just give up, what's the point in continuing to try?'" His voice wavered. "And...and then they got worse. They began talking about you. They started screaming, the closer I got to you. 'She'll never trust you again.' 'She hates you.' 'She hates you.'" He pressed his hand to mine.  
        "Did you hate me?"  
        I looked up to meet his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, looking like a small child needing validation. I gave a small, sad smile and pressed my thumb to his smooth cheek, brushing away the tears.  
        "Never. I could never hate you, Mich."  
        He pressed a trembling hand over mine. "I-I collapsed outside the mansion when I couldn't take the pain anymore. It started in my feet and sprang up my legs, making it hard to walk, making me shake. I felt my hair falling out and turning dark and that's when I knew what was happening to me, but still I needed to reach you, I needed to make sure you were safe and save you, because yes that's my job as your guardian, but more than that. So much more than that."  
        He pressed his forehead to mine.  
        "I care about you. More than anyone. Not only as a guardian angel but as a friend. And...and the worst part of what the voices in my head were saying is that I started to believe them. I believed them when they said I wasn't a suitable guardian for you, that I would never be able to make you happy the way you needed to be happy, that I would fail my mission and that I should just give up. They said things about your attachment to Elliott..." He drew his eyes away for a second and sighed. I felt Elliott stiffen against me. "Horrible things. Things I've told myself not to think. And yet I began to agree with them. I embraced what they said because if I couldn't be the angel to make you happy, I didn't deserve to be an angel at all."  
        I shivered in the silence following that proclamation. Slowly I twined the fingers of both of my hands with his and pressed my face to his chest again, listening to his heart beating in his chest.   
        "Mich," I murmured against him, feeling my head rise and fall with the rhythm of his breathing. "You are the best guardian I could have asked for." I looked up at his face to see him gazing down at me, sapphire eyes wide with amazement. "It's true. You...you came after me when you felt how hurt I was. You left a trial just to find me, without even having any clue where I was or what I was doing, just because you thought I was in danger. And all of this after I kicked you out of my house and was trying to give you up." I pressed my palms to his cheeks and smiled, tears hanging on my eyelashes. "You're a perfect guardian angel, Michelangelo. You've given me something I've wanted for a long, long time."  
        "Oh? What's that?"  
        "Someone to tell me that they cared about me more than anyone else on the planet, and for me to believe them when they said that."  
        Michelangelo's face twisted with emotion and he wrapped his hands around me. I felt something warm in my heart, a small golden pebble.  
        "Mich," I said, eyes growing warm with wonder, but he was already standing and taking my hands.  
        I looked up at him, pressing my hands into his palms, and he beamed.

        With a burst of feathers, two massive wings spread from his back, spreading over the benches and sending feathers fluttering through the air. His wings, Michelangelo's wings, caught the sunlight shafting through the windows and reflected the brilliant rainbows, throwing colors sparkling onto the benches and the walls.  
        My eyes widened.  
        I had been expecting pure white wings, but Mich's were a shining gold, the feathers glistening honey in the sunlight. When the light caught them, they sparkled cleanly.   
        Curious, I gently ran my fingers along one of the wings and Michelangelo shuddered, the wing trembling a bit under my touch. They were soft and light as air, and as I caught a feather and turned it toward the light it glistened gaily.  
        "Oh Mich," I breathed. "They're beautiful."  
        Michelangelo caught me in his arms and buried his face in my neck. I chuckled and hugged him tightly.  
        "Thank you, Mich, for making me finally happy."  
        "No, thank you, April," he said, leaning back and meeting my eyes warmly. "Thank you for finally giving me my wings."

        I twined my fingers with Mich's as we walked along the bike trail. It seemed like not so long ago we had walked this same path. I felt like an entirely different person, that warm, buoyant ball of gold still in my heart.   
        "Milady," Michelangelo said softly, his golden wings folded neatly against his back. "Do you have a moment? There is something I wish to show you."  
        I turned to gaze at him and nodded. "Of course, Mich, anything."  
        He met my eyes evenly. "I need you to trust me, however."  
        "More than anyone, Mich."  
        He gently took me into his arms. "You are secure?"  
        "Yes, but what are- oof!"  
        Mich was flying. He spread his golden wings and lifted neatly off the ground, scattering a small handful of feathers across the ground as he ascended, easily flapping his wings. I buried my face in his chest, trembling.  
        "Mich, I'm afraid of heights..."  
        "Do not worry, milady, I shall hold you."  
        I pressed to him and buried my face in his chest, squeaking and trembling in fear, until he finally paused in his flight. Fluttering his wings with a soft flick, he murmured to me.  
        "Open your eyes, milady."  
        I did, timidly, terrified of what I was going to see. When I saw, I gasped, though that shouldn't have been possible.  
        Mich and I were in space. Blackness spread around us in every direction, spreading as far as I could see. Tiny pinpricks of light sparkled past us, stars, planets and comets. I panicked for a moment when I realized there was nothing sturdy beneath my feet, but looking down, I saw I was held securely in Mich's arms. A protective golden bubble had spread around us, which also seemed to hold the oxygen we needed to breathe. Mich's wings were no less luminous here than they were otherwise, in fact, they seemed even more glorious in the undeterred light of the sun.  
        The sun. It drew my eyes immediately. It was massive, larger than I had ever imagined, and it was breathtaking. My eyes could make out solar flares leaping from its molten surface.   
        "Oh...," I breathed, clinging to Mich. I was aware that I would not fall, the golden bubble protected me, but still I clung to him as I gazed around, knocked breathless by the intense beauty of space.  
        "Look down there, milady," Mich said, pointing down, but my eyes had already found it.  
        Earth. Turning slowly around the sun, it was small enough that I felt I could hold it in my hands if I had reached out. It was lush and green and sapphire blue, it looked like a glistening gem in the universe, a jewel on the necklace that was our solar system. I shivered.  
        Everyone I had ever met, every thing I had ever done, everyone who had ever lived had been on that tiny chunk of rock beneath my feet. Compared to that, my everyday struggles and problems seemed so tiny, so miniscule. Why worry about a bad hair day when millions and millions of miles away entire planets were rotating quietly around the sun and the universe was empty of thought or care?  
        "It's beautiful, Mich," I murmured. "But what are those little glowing white dots on Earth?"  
        For the planet was covered in small specks, flickering white against the green-and-blue of the planet. There were seemingly millions of them, and they appeared in constant motion, spiraling, turning, flicking, even teleporting across its surface at the blink of an eye.  
        Michelangelo chuckled softly. "Isn't it obvious?" He placed his mouth close to my ear and murmured comfortingly. "Those are angels, milady."  
        I gasped. Millions. There were millions of them. Millions of pure, true, beautiful beings watching over the human race, guiding them to happiness, taking care of them. Nowhere on Earth was neglected, everywhere was protected. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks as I watched the angels watching over us.   
        "There are so many," I breathed.   
        I felt hope rise like a bubble in my chest. Humankind was not alone. Bad things happened to us sometimes, that was how life worked, but through it all we were watched over by beings who wanted nothing but the best for us.   
        "There is hope, milady," Mich breathed in my ear.  
        And I believed him.

 

        I stood alone on the stage. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.   
        The stage was empty around me, the lights illuminating me, casting my shadow on the bare wood behind me. I pressed my right hand into a sweaty fist and lifted the microphone to my lips, closing my eyes against the empty auditorium around me.  
        Music rose in my ears and in my head as I imagined the beginning of the song.

 _Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes._  
But it's the only thing that I know  
When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes.  
But it's the only thing that makes us feel alive. 

        Behind me, and a little to the left, the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar started. I glanced up to see Gideon, dressed in a loose-fitting red shirt and jeans, feet bare as always, strumming the music to the song and tapping his foot. I smiled a bit and he winked at me as he played.

 _We keep this love in a photograph._  
We made these memories for ourselves.  
Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken  
Time's forever frozen and still.

        To my right, the soft plink of piano notes added to the song and I turned to see Gabriel, flicking his fingers carefully along the ivory keys, nodding to the beat as he played. I pressed my hand to his back as I sang the next part of the song.

 _So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans_  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home.

        Behind me, as I stepped back, a drumline kicked up as a drumset appeared, Elliott behind it, nodding in rhythm with Gabriel as he tapped the drumsticks against the instrument. I sat beside him and rested my head against his.

 _Loving can heal_  
Loving can mend your soul  
And it's the only thing that I know, know  
I swear it will get easier,  
Remember that with every piece of you  
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

__

We keep this love in a photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken  
Time's forever frozen and still

So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone

 _And if you hurt me,_  
That's okay baby  
Only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home  
Wait for me to come home 

        As I started the next bit of the song, a single figure appeared in the front of the stage, a violin raised to his chin, eyeing me warmly. I rose from my seat beside Elliott and approached him, singing the next part as I crossed the stage, never taking my eyes off the best friend I could ever ask for.

 _You can fit me_  
Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen  
Next to your heartbeat where I should be  
Keep it deep within your soul  
And if you hurt me  
That's okay baby   
Only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go

        I pressed my head to Mich's chest and gazed around at the other angels assembled on the stage around me as they all stopped playing and smiled gently at me, their eyes shining. My heart tugged a bit and I felt myself weeping as I sang the final phrases of the song.

 _When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me_  
Under the lamppost back on Sixth Street  
Hearing you whisper through the phone  
"Wait for me to come home."

End of Blessed: Book One

Stay tuned for Book Two!

 

_((A/N: Thank you so much for reading Blessed! Feel free to drop me a comment letting me know what you thought of it and my precious angel babies. Blessed is in sort of first draft mode at the moment, if I ever take it any further I intend to change things, edit it and add more details and such, but for now I'm quite happy with how it turned out. I hope you enjoyed and come back to enjoy Book 2! Thanks for reading :D))_


End file.
